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The  Works  of 

"Saki" 

(H.  H.  Munro) 

The  Westminster  Alice 

Reginald  and  Reginald  in  Russia 

The  Chronicles  of  Clo-vis 

The   Unbearable  Bassington 

When  William  Came 

Beasts  and  Super-Beasts 

The   Toys  of  Peace 

The  Square  Egg 


THI    WORKS    OP 
«  SAKI  " 

(H.  H.  MUNRO) 


BIDLIOGR.iPHlOAL   NOTE 


First  rubhshed      . 

T()I4 

Reprinted 

jg22 

ColUclcd  Editim 

J926 

Pe-bniited 

1927 

Reprinted 

1928 

Reprinted      . 

,        igjS 

Rer-.'nted       . 

1029 

Reprinted 

.        1930 

♦■IHHHfr-K  ff  «■ »  K  X  X  X  W  «  $h»"»»»»?»-^«-«";Hfr*»»»-K'»»»» 


*       BEASTS   &   SUPER-BEASTS 

h 

t         «  SAKI  "  (H.  H.  MUNRO) 

wiih  an  Introduction  by 
H.  W.  NEVINSON 


* 


S 


NEW  YORK 
THE  VIKING  PRESS 


Made  and  Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  Butler  8:  Tanner  Ltd.,  Frome  and  London 


PR 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  first  time  I  met  "  Said  "  was  in  St.  Petersburg 
during  the  attempted  revolution  of  1905.  We 
were  staying  in  the  same  hotel,  I  as  correspondent  of 
the  Daily  Chronicle^  he,  I  think,  of  the  Morning  Post. 
At  all  events  he  ought  to  have  been  for  the  Morning 
Post,  since  he  v/as  endowed  with  just  the  right  touch  of 
"  educated  scorn "  which  has  always  distinguished 
that  superior  paper.  Like  his  paper,  "  Saki  "  was 
suspicious  of  all  enthusiasm,  especially  of  all  Liberal 
enthusiasm,  and  stood  ready  to  mock  at  the  zeal 
and  aspirations  of  all  "  faddists "  and  "  cranks." 
His  nature  ranged  him  on  the  side  of  authority  and 
tradition,  while  he  despised  the  ideals  of  "  progress  " 
as  amiable  illusions.  One  saw  the  twist  of  cynicism 
clearly  marked  on  his  face.  His  aspect  of  the  world 
was  cynical.  But  the  cynicism  was  humorous  and 
charming,  partly  assumed  as  a  protective  covering  to 
conceal  and  shelter  feehng.  That  is  our  English 
way,  arid  in  the  suppression  of  emotion,  or  of  it*  out- 
ward signs,  "  Saki  "  was  entirely  English. 

Even  in  these  stories,  so  far  removed  from  politics, 
one  comes  suddenly  upon  this  shrewd  distrust  of  theories 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

and  reforming  ideals.     Consider  that  sharp  stroke  in 
"  The  Treasure  Ship  "  : 

"  Somewhere  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland  the  Dul- 
verton  property  included  a  few  acres  of  shingle,  rock, 
and  heather,  too  barren  to  support  even  an  agrarian 
outrage." 

Or  consider  the  precautions  of  the  lady  who  wished 
to  give  the  candidate  for  election  (obviously  a  Liberal) 
a  respite  from  politics  in  "  The  Lull "  : 

*'  I've  had  the  picture  of  Cromwell  dissolving  the 
Long  Parliament  taken  down  from  the  staircase,  and 
even  the  portrait  of  Lord  Rosebery's  '  Ladas  '  removed 
from  the  smoking-room." 

Or  take  that  phrase  in  "  The  Unkindest  Blow  "  : 

**  The  Government  of  the  day,  which  from  its 
tendency  to  be  a  few  hours  behind  the  course  of 
events  had  been  nicknamed  the  Government  of  the 
afternoon,  was  obliged  to  intervene  with  promptitude 
and  decision." 

Or  the  description  of  the  lady  who  was  a  Socialist  by 
conviction  : 

"  When  she  inveighed  eloquently  against  the  evils  of 
capitalism  at  drawing-room  meetings  and  Fabian  Con- 
ferences she  was  conscious  of  a  comfortable  feeling  that 
the  system,  with  all  its  inequalities  and  iniquities,  would 
probably  last  her  time.  It  is  one  of  the  consolations  of 
middle-aged  reformers  that  the  good  they  inculcate 
must  live  after  them  if  it  is  to  live  at  all." 

There  you  get  the  pure  satiric  irony,  and  you  will 
viii 


INTRODUCTION 

find  more  than  a  touch  of  it  whenever  Trade  Unions 
and  Strikes  come  into  the  story,  as  in  that  same  "  Byzan- 
tine Omelette  "  or  "  The  Unkindest  Blow."  Some- 
thing similar  is  the  educated  scorn  of  the  vulgar  herd 
in  "  Cousin  Teresa,"  with  its  wildly  popular  refrain  of 
"  The  Big  Borzoi." 

In  fact,  the  charm  of  cynical  sanity  enters  into 
nearly  all  "  Saki's  "  inventions.  Rather  than  admit 
saints  and  heroes  to  sentimental  adoration  he  tinges 
nearly  all  his  characters  with  a  delightful  malice.  In 
"  The  Story-Teller  "  he  lets  us  into  his  own  secret. 
There  we  are  shown  to  perfection  the  nature  of  chil- 
dren and  their  persistent,  unanswerable  questions 
("  Why  is  the  grass  in  the  other  field  better  ?  "  and 
so  on).  But  we  also  see  the  dislike  that  children  and 
all  human  beings  instinctively  feel  towards  the  un- 
commonly good,  and  the  general  joy  when  an  evil  fate 
overtakes  them  owing  to  their  goodness.  For  if 
Bertha's  three  medals  for  goodness  had  not  clinked 
together,  the  wolf  would  not  have  found  and  devoured 
her,  and  what  a  pity  that  would  have  been  ! 

A  delightful  and  ingenious  wickedness  gives  a 
charm  to  nearly  all  the  stories,  and  it  is  noticeable  that 
the  most  wickedly  malicious  of  the  characters  are 
dear,  innocent  little  girls  or  even  good,  sweet  women 
who  ought  to  have  been  "  ministering  angel  thous.** 
On  the  whole,  I  think  I  like  the  giri  in  "  The  Lull  '* 
best.  Her  idea  of  distracting  the  politician's  mind  by 
bringing  a  little  pig  and  a  gamecock  into  his  bedroom 

ijc 


INTRODUCTION 

is  most  ingenious.     And  then  her  description  of  the 
imaginary  flood  that  made  the  shelter  necessary  : 

"  Good  gracious  !  Have  any  lives  been  lost  ? " 
"  Heaps,  I  should  say.  The  second  housemaid  has 
already  identified  three  bodies  that  have  floated  past  the 
billiard-room  window  as  being  the  young  man  she's 
engaged  to.  Either  she's  engaged  to  a  large  assort- 
ment of  the  population  round  here  or  else  she's  very 
careless  at  identification.  Of  course  it  may  be  the 
same  body  coming  round  again  and  again  in  a  swirl  j 
I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

And  I  love  Matilda  in  "The  Boar-Pig"  story. 

Minx,  liar,  thief Oh,  yes  !   I  know  all  that. 

But  how  ingenious  !     How  lovable  ! 

"  Shoo  !  Hish  !  Hish  !  Shoo  I  "  cried  the  ladies 
in  chorus. 

"  If  they  think  they're  going  to  drive  him  away  by 
reciting  lists  of  the  kings  of  Israel  and  Judah  they're 
laying  themselves  out  for  disappointment,"  observed 
Matilda  from  her  seat  in  the  medlar  tree. 

Equally  fine  is  the  mendacious  invention  of  Vera 
in  "  The  Quince  Tree."  The  malice  of  Eleanor 
in  "  Fur  "  almost  surpasses  her  charm,  but  how  pleasing 
is  the  final  remark  : 

**  A  cloud  has  arisen  between  the  friendships  of  the 
two  young  women  ;  as  far  as  Eleanor  is  concerned 
the  cloud  has  a  silver-fox  lining." 

One  naturally  classes  Max  Becrbohm  with  "  Saki.** 
Their  half-humorous,  half-cynical  attitude  of  mind 


INTRODUCTION 

!s  much  the  same.  But  even  Max  is  not  so  consum- 
mate a  liar  as  "  Saki."  I  suppose  "  Saki  "  is  the  finest 
liar  in  literature.  In  "The  Way  of  All  Flesh" 
Samuel  Butler  showed  himself  a  good  har,  but  his  lies 
are  not  so  rich  in  invention  as  "  Saki's."  Which  is 
the  most  outrageous  lie  in  this  lot  ?  It  is  hard  to 
decide  between  "  The  Lull,"  already  mentioned, 
"  The  Hen,"  "  The  Romancers,"  and  "  A  Defensive 
Diamond."  But  on  the  whole  I  incline  to  "The 
Schartz-Metterklume  Method."  That  has  all  the 
advantages  of  a  splendid  lie  and  a  series  of  surprises. 
Surprise  is  one  of  "Saki's"  favourite  jests.  In  that  story 
how  startling  is  the  answer  of  the  pseudo-governess  : 

"  We  got  very  satisfactory  references  about  you 
from  Canon  Teep,"  she  (Mrs.  Quabarl,  the  employer) 
observed  :    "  a  very  estimable  man,  I  should  think." 

"  Drinks  like  a  fish  and  beats  his  wife,  otherwise  a 
very  lovable  character,"  sa'd  the  governess  imper- 
turbably. 

And  then  I  like  the  lie  and  the  surprise  in  "  Dusk." 
The  story  is  so  nearly  a  commonplace  tract,  but  how 
charmingly  it  is  saved  by  the  malicious  surprise  of  the 
last  six  words. 

For  mere  wit  of  expression  one  might  take  the 
description  of  the  Duke  of  Falvertoon  in  "  The 
Unkindest  Blow  "  (not  in  itself  the  best  of  the  stories), 
as  "  One  of  those  human  hors  d'ceievres  that  stimulate 
the  public  appetite  for  sensation  without  giving  it  much 
to  feed  on."     Or  of  the  soft  and  idle  young  man  who 

2d 


INTRODUCTION 

was  "  one  of  those  people  who  would  be  enormously 
improved  by  death  "  ("  The  Feats  of  Nemesis "). 
And  what  perfection  of  satire  on  the  artistic  taste  of 
the  British  public  is  hidden  in  the  account  of  Eshley 
(in  "  The  Stalled  Ox  ")  who  won  success  by  painting 
cattle  Cii'owsing  picturesquely  under  walnut-trees, 
and  was  obliged  by  the  public  to  go  on  painting  the 
same  subject  for  ever.  How  well  I  remember  a  Royal 
Academician  who  painted  a  cow  by  a  willowy  stream 
about  the  middle  of  last  century  and  for  fifty  or  sixty 
years  continued  to  paint  that  cow  beside  a  willowy 
stream  without  noticeable  variation  or  sign  of  age. 

There  is  only  one  tragic  story  in  this  collection 
('*  The  Cobweb  "),  and  a  reader  should  be  warned 
against  swallowing  the  whole  succession  rapidly  one 
after  the  other.  That  dulls  the  appetite  for  the  wit 
and  malice.  It  is  worse  than  reading  a  whole  volume 
of  an  old  Punch  on  end,  and  there  is  little  more  depress- 
ing than  that.  "  Saki  "  must  be  taken  as  an  occa- 
sional spice,  an  exquisite  aperitif.  He  is  best  as  a 
defence  against  commonplace  and  sentimentality.  To 
myself  his  works,  like  his  conversation,  have  given  so 
many  happy  moments  that  when  I  think  with  sorrow 
upon  the  friends  that  I  lost  in  the  war,  his  small  and 
twisted  face,  in  expression  like  a  young  and  humorous 
bird's,  stands  among  the  first  that  rise  before  my  mind. 
It  stands  beside  Rupert  Brooke's  and  Edward  Thomas's. 

HENRY  W.  NEVINSON. 
zii 


AUTHOR     S      NOTE 

**  npHE  Open  Window,"  "  The  Schartz-Metterk- 
X  lume  Method,"  and  "  Clovis  on  Parental 
Responsibilities,"  originally  appeared  in  the  West- 
minster Gazette,  "  The  Elk  "  in  the  Bystander,  and 
the  remaining  stories  in  the  Morning  Post.  To  the 
Editors  of  these  papers  I  am  indebted  for  their  courtesy 
in  allowing  me  to  reprint  them. 

H.  H.  M. 


CONTENTS 


The  She-wolf 

Laura 

The  Boar-pig 

The  Brogue     . 

The  Hen 

The  Open  Window 

The  Treasure-ship 

The  Cobweb     . 

The  Lull 

The  Unkindest  Blow 

The  Romancers 

The  Schartz-Metterklume  Method 

The  Seventh  Pullet 

The  Blind  Spot 

Dusk 

A  Touch  of  Realism 

Cousin  Teresa 

The  Yarkand  Manner 

The  Byzantine  Omelette 

The  Feast  of  Nemesis 

The  Dreamer 

The  Quince  Tree    . 

The  Forbidden  Buzzards 

The  Stake 

XV 


PAGE 

X 

xo 

17 

*4 
31 
38 

43 
48 

56 

63 

69 

75 

82 

90 
96 

lOZ 

no 

116 

123 

129 

135 
141 

146 

15a 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Clovis  on  Parental  Responsibilities        .        ,        ,158 

A  Holiday  Task 162 

The  Stalled  Ox 169 

The  Story-Teller 176 

A  Defensive  Diamond 184 

The  Elk 190 

"Down  Pens" 197 

The  Name-day  .......     203 

The  Lumber-Room  .        .         .        .        .        ,211 

Fur  .........     219 

The  Philanthropist  and  the  Happy  Cat       .        ,     226 
Cm  Approval •        .     233 


XVI 


BEASTS  AND   SUPER-BEASTS 


BEASTS  AND  SUPER-BEASTS 


THE      SHE-WOLF 

LEONARD  BILSITER  was  one  of  those  people 
who  have  failed  to  find  this  world  attractive 
or  interesting,  and  who  have  sought  compensation 
in  an  "  unseen  world  "  of  their  own  experience  or 
imagination — or  invention.  Children  do  that  sort 
of  thing  successfully,  but  children  are  content  to  con- 
\ince  themselves,  and  do  not  vulgarize  their  beliefs 
by  trying  to  convince  other  people.  Leonard  Bilsiter's 
beliefs  were  for  "  the  few,"  that  is  to  say,  anyone  who 
would  listen  to  him. 

His  dabblings  in  the  unseen  might  not  have  carried 
him  beyond  the  customary  platitudes  of  the  drawing- 
room  visionary  if  accident  had  not  reinforced  his  stock- 
in-trade  of  mystical  lore.  In  company  with  a  friend, 
who  was  interested  in  a  Ural  mining  concern,  he  had 
made  a  trip  across  Eastern  Europe  at  a  moment  when 
the  great  Russian  railway  strike  was  developing 
from  a  threat  to  a  reality  ;  its  outbreak  caught  him 
on  the  return  journey,  somewhere  on  the  further 
side  of  Perm,  and  it  was  while  waiting  for  a  couple 
of  days  at  a  wayside  station  in  a  state  of  suspended 
locomotion  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  dealer 
in  harness  and  metalware,  who  profitably  whiled 
away  the  tedium  of  the  long  halt  by  initiating  his 

I 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

English  travelling  companion  in  a  fragmentary  system 
of  folk-lore  that  he  had  picked  up  from  Trans-Baikal 
traders  and  natives.  Leonard  returned  to  his  home 
circle  garrulous  about  his  Russian  strike  experiences, 
but  oppressively  reticent  about  certain  dark  mysteries, 
which  he  alluded  to  under  the  resounding  title  of 
Siberian  Magic.  The  reticence  wore  off  in  a  week  or 
two  under  the  influence  of  an  entire  lack  of  general 
curiosity,  and  Leonard  began  to  make  more  detailed 
allusions  to  the  enormous  powers  which  this  new 
esoteric  force,  to  use  his  own  description  of  it,  conferred 
on  the  initiated  few  who  knew  how  to  wield  it.  His 
aunt,  Cecilia  Hoops,  who  loved  sensation  perhaps 
rather  better  than  she  loved  the  truth,  gave  him  as 
clamorous  an  advertisement  as  anyone  could  wish  for 
by  retailing  an  account  of  how  he  had  turned  a  vegetable 
marrow  into  a  wood-pigeon  before  her  very  eyes.  As  a 
manifestation  of  the  possession  of  supernatural  powers, 
the  story  was  discounted  in  some  quarters  by  the 
respect  accorded  to  Mrs.  Hoops'  powers  of  imagin- 
ation. 

However  divided  opinion  might  be  on  the  question 
of  Leonard's  status  as  a  wonderworker  or  a  charlatan, 
he  certainly  arrived  at  Mary  Hampton's  house-party 
with  a  reputation  for  pre-eminence  in  one  or  other 
of  those  professions,  and  he  was  not  disposed  to  shun 
such  publicity  as  might  fall  to  his  share.  Esoteric 
forces  and  unusual  powers  figured  largely  in  whatever 
conversation  he  or  his  aunt  had  a  share  in,  and  his 
own  performances,  past  and  potential,  were  the  subject 
of  mysterious  hints  and  dark  avowals. 

"  I  wish  you  would  turn  me  into  a  wolf,  Mr. 
Bilsiter,"  said  his  hostess  at  luncheon  the  day  after 
his  arrival. 


THE      SHE- WOLF 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  Colonel  Hampton,  **  I 
never  knew  you  had  a  craving  in  that  direction." 

"  A  she-wolf,  of  course,"  continued  Mrs.  Hampton  ; 
"  it  would  be  too  confusing  to  change  one's  sex  as  well 
as  one's  species  at  a  moment's  notice." 

"  I  don't  think  one  should  jest  on  these  subjects,'* 
said  Leonard. 

"  I'm  not  jesting,  I'm  quite  serious,  I  assure  you. 
Only  don't  do  it  to-day  ;  we  have  only  eight  available 
bridge  players,  and  it  would  break  up  one  of  our  tables. 
To-morrow  we  shall  be  a  larger  party.  To-morrow 
night,  after  dinner " 

"  In  our  present  imperfect  understanding  of  these 
hidden  forces  I  think  one  should  approach  them  with 
humbleness  rather  than  mockery,"  observed  Leonard, 
with  such  severity  that  the  subject  was  forthwith 
dropped. 

Clovis  Sangrail  had  sat  unusually  silent  during  the 
discussion  on  the  possibilities  of  Siberian  Magic  ;  after 
lunch  he  side-tracked  Lord  Pabham  into  the  com- 
parative seclusion  of  the  billiard-room  and  delivered 
himself  of  a  searching  question. 

"  Have  you  such  a  thing  as  a  she-wolf  in  your 
collection  of  wild  animals  ?  A  she-wolf  of  moder- 
ately good  temper  ?  " 

Lord  Pabham  considered.  "  There  is  Louisa,"  he 
said,  "  a  rather  fine  specimen  of  the  timber-wolf,  I 
got  her  two  years  ago  in  exchange  for  some  Arctic 
foxes.  Most  of  my  animals  get  to  be  fairly  tame 
before  they've  been  with  me  very  long  ;  I  think  I  can 
say  Louisa  has  an  angelic  temper,  as  she-wolves  go. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

**  I  was  wondering  whether  you  would  lend  her  to 
me  for  to-morrow  night,"  said  Clovis,  with  the  careless 

3 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

solicitude  of  one  who  borrows  a  collar  stud  or  a  tennis 
racquet. 

"  To-morrow  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  wolves  are  nocturnal  animals,  so  the  late 
hours  won't  hurt  her,"  said  Clovis,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  has  taken  everything  into  consideration  ;  "  one 
of  your  men  could  bring  her  over  from  Pabham  Park 
after  dusk,  and  with  a  little  help  he  ought  to  be 
able  to  smuggle  her  into  the  conservatory  at  the  same 
moment  that  Mary  Hampton  makes  an  unobtrusive 
exit." 

Lord  Pabham  stared  at  Clovis  for  a  moment  in 
pardonable  bewilderment  ;  then  his  face  broke  into 
a  wrinkled  network  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,  that's  your  game,  is  it  ?  You  are  going  to 
do  a  little  Siberian  Magic  on  your  own  account.  And 
is  Mrs.  Hampton  willing  to  be  a  fellow-conspirator  ?  " 

"  Mary  is  pledged  to  see  me  through  with  it,  if  you 
will  guarantee  Louisa's  temper." 

"  I'll  answer  for  Louisa,"  said  Lord  Pabham. 

By  the  following  day  the  house-party  had  swollen 
to  larger  proportions,  and  Bilsiter's  instinct  for  self- 
advertisement  expanded  duly  under  the  stimulant  of  an 
increased  audience.  At  dinner  that  evening  he  held 
forth  at  length  on  the  subject  of  unseen  forces  and 
untested  powers,  and  his  flow  of  impressive  eloquence 
continued  unabated  while  coffee  was  being  served  in 
the  drawing-room  preparatory  to  a  general  migration 
to  the  card-room.  His  aunt  ensured  a  respectful 
hearing  for  his  utterances,  but  her  sensation-loving 
soul  hankered  after  something  more  dramatic  than 
mere  vocal  demonstration. 

"  Won't  you  do  something  to  convince  them  of 
your    powers,    Leonard?"    she    pleaded}     "change 

4 


THE       SHE-WOLF 

something  into  another  shape.  He  can,  you  icnow,  if 
he  only  chooses  to,"  she  informed  the  company. 

"  Oh,  do,"  said  Mavis  PelHngton  earnestly,  and 
her  request  was  echoed  by  nearly  every  one  present. 
Even  those  who  were  not  open  to  conviction  were 
perfectly  willing  to  be  entertained  by  an  exhibition  of 
amateur  conjuring. 

Leonard  felt  that  something  tangible  was  expected 
of  him. 

"  Has  anyone  present,"  he  asked,  "  got  a  three- 
penny bit  or  some  small  object  of  no  particular 
value ?  " 

"  You're  surely  not  going  to  make  coins  disappear, 
or  something  primitive  of  that  sort  ?  "  said  Clovis 
contemptuously. 

"  I  think  it  very  unkind  of  you  not  to  carry  out  my 
suggestion  of  turning  me  into  a  wolf,"  said  Mary 
Hampton,  as  she  crossed  over  to  the  conservatory  to 
give  her  macaws  their  usual  tribute  from  the  dessert 
dishes. 

"  I  have  already  warned  you  of  the  danger  of  treat- 
ing these  powers  in  a  mocking  spirit,"  said  Leonard 
solemnly. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  do  it,"  laughed  Mary 
provocatively  from  the  conservatory  ;  "  I  dare  you 
to  do  it  if  you  can.      I  defy  you  to  turn  me  into  a  wolf." 

As  she  said  this  she  was  lost  to  view  behind  a  clump 
of  azaleas. 

"  Mrs.  Hampton "  began  Leonard  with  in- 
creased solemnity,  but  he  got  no  further.  A  breath 
of  chill  air  seemed  to  rush  across  the  room,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  macaws  broke  forth  into  ear-splitting 
screams. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  those  confounded 
5 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

birds,  Mary  ?  "  exclaimed  Colonel  Hampton  ;  at  the 
same  moment  an  even  more  piercing  scream  from 
Mavis  Pellington  stampeded  the  entire  company  from 
their  seats.  In  various  attitudes  of  helpless  horror  or 
instinctive  defence  they  confronted  the  evil-looking 
grey  beast  that  was  peering  at  them  from  amid  a  setting 
of  fern  and  azalea. 

Mrs.  Hoops  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  general 
chaos  of  fright  and  bewilderment. 

"  Leonard  !  "  she  screamed  shrilly  to  her  nephew, 
"  turn  it  back  into  Mrs.  Hampton  at  once  !  It  may 
fly  at  us  at  any  moment.      Turn  it  back  !  " 

*'  I — I  don't  know  how  to,"  faltered  Leonard,  who 
looked  more  scared  and  horrified  than  anyone. 

"  What  !  "  shouted  Colonel  Hampton,  "  you've 
taken  the  abominable  liberty  of  turning  my  wife  into 
a  wolf,  and  now  you  stand  there  calmly  and  say  you 
can't  turn  her  back  again  !  " 

To  do  strict  justice  to  Leonard,  calmness  was  not 
a  distinguishing  feature  of  his  attitude  at  the  moment. 

"  I  assure  you  I  didn't  turn  Mrs.  Hampton  into  a 
wolf;  nothing  was  farther  from  my  intentions,"  he 
protested. 

"  Then  where  is  she,  and  how  came  that  animal 
into  the  conservatory  ?  "  demanded  the  Colonel. 

"  Of  course  we  must  accept  your  assurance  that  you 
didn't  turn  Mrs.  Hampton  into  a  wolf,"  said  Clovis 
politely,  "  but  you  will  agree  that  appearances  are 
against  you." 

"  Are  we  to  have  all  these  recriminations  with  that 
beast  standing  there  ready  to  tear  us  to  pieces  ?  "  wailed 
Mavis  indignantly. 

"  Lord  Pabham,  you  know  a  good  deal  about  wild 

beasts "  suggested  Colonel  Hampton. 

6 


THE      SHE-WOLF 

*'  The  wild  beasts  that  I  have  been  accustomed  to," 
said  Lord  Pabham,  "  have  come  with  proper  credentials 
from  well-known  dealers,  or  have  been  bred  in  my  own 
menagerie.  I've  never  before  been  confronted  with 
an  animal  that  walks  unconcernedly  out  of  an  azalea 
bush,  leaving  a  charming  and  popular  hostess  un- 
accounted for.  As  far  as  one  can  judge  from  outward 
characteristics,"  he  continued,  "  it  has  the  appearance 
of  a  well-grown  female  of  the  North  American  timber- 
wolf,  a  variety  of  the  common  species  cams  lupus." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  its  Latin  name,"  screamed  Mavis, 
as  the  beast  came  a  step  or  two  further  into  the  room  j 
"  can't  you  entice  it  away  with  food,  and  shut  it  up 
where  it  can't  do  any  harm  ?  " 

**  If  it. is  really  Mrs.  Hampton,  who  has  just  had  a 
very  good  dinner,  I  don't  suppose  food  will  appeal  to 
it  very  strongly,"  said  Clovis. 

"  Leonard,"  beseeched  Mrs.  Hoops  tearfully,  "  even 
if  this  is  none  of  your  doing  can't  you  use  your  great 
powers  to  turn  this  dreadful  beast  into  something 
harmless  before  it  bites  us  all — a  rabbit  or  some- 
thing ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  Colonel  Hampton  would  care  to 
have  his  wife  turned  into  a  succession  of  fancy  animals 
as  though  we  were  playing  a  round  game  with  her," 
interposed  Clovis. 

"  I  absolutely  forbid  it,"  thundered  the  Colonel. 

"  Most  wolves  that  I've  had  anything  to  do  with 
have  been  inordinately  fond  of  sugar,"  said  Lord 
Pabham  ;    "  if  you  like  I'll  try  the  effect  on  this  one." 

He  took  a  piece  of  sugar  from  the  saucer  of  his 
coffee  cup  and  flung  it  to  the  expectant  Louisa,  who 
snapped  it  in  mid-air.  There  was  a  sigh  of  relief 
from  the  company  j  a  wolf  that  ate  sugar  when  it 

7 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

might  at  the  least  have  been  employed  in  tearing  macaws 
to  pieces  had  already  shed  some  of  its  terrors.  The 
sigh  deepened  to  a  gasp  of  thanksgiving  when  Lord 
Pabham  decoyed  the  animal  out  of  the  room  by  a 
pretended  largesse  of  further  sugar.  There  was  an 
instant  rush  to  the  vacated  conservatory.  There  was 
no  trace  of  Mrs.  Hampton  except  the  plate  containing 
the  macaws'  supper. 

"  The  door  is  locked  on  the  inside  !  "  exclaimed 
Clovis,  who  had  deftly  turned  the  key  as  he  affected 
to  test  it. 

Every  one  turned  towards  Bilsiter, 

"  If  you  haven't  turned  my  wife  into  a  wolf/'  said 
Colonel  Hampton,  "  will  you  kindly  explain  where 
she  has  disappeared  to,  since  she  obviously  could  not 
have  gone  through  a  locked  door  ?  I  will  not  press 
you  for  an  explanation  of  how  a  North  American 
timber- wolf  suddenly  appeared  in  the  conservatory,  but 
I  think  I  have  some  right  to  inquire  what  has  become 
of  Mrs.  Hampton." 

Bilsiter's  reiterated  disclaimer  was  met  with  a  general 
murmur  of  impatient  disbelief, 

"  I  refuse  to  stay  another  hour  under  this  roof," 
declared  Mavis  Pellington. 

"  If  our  hostess  has  really  vanished  out  of  human 
form,"  said  Mrs.  Hoops,  "  none  of  the  ladies  of  the 
party  can  very  well  remain.  I  absolutely  decline  to 
be  chaperoned  by  a  wolf  !  " 

"  It's  a  she-wolf,"  said  Clovis  soothingly. 

The  correct  etiquette  to  be  observed  under  the 
unusual  circumstances  received  no  further  elucidation. 
The  sudden  entry  of  Mary  Hampton  deprived  the 
discussion  of  its  immediate  interest. 

"  Some  one   has   mesmerized  me,"   she  exclaimed 


THE       SHE-WOLF 

crossly  ;  "  I  found  myself  in  the  game  larder,  of  all 
places,  being  fed  with  sugar  by  Lord  Pabham.  I  hate 
being  mesmerized,  and  the  doctor  has  forbidden  me 
to  touch  sugar." 

The  situation  was  explained  to  her,  as  far  as  it  per- 
mitted of  anything  that  could  be  called  explanation. 

"  Then  you  really  did  turn  me  into  a  wolf,  Mr. 
Bilsiter  ?  "  she  exclaimed  excitedly. 

But  Leonard  had  burned  the  boat  in  which  he  might 
now  have  embarked  on  a  sea  of  glory.  He  could  only 
shake  his  head  feebly. 

"  It  was  I  who  took  that  liberty,"  said  Clovis  ; 
"  you  see,  I  happen  to  have  lived  for  a  couple  of  years 
in  North-Eastern  Russia,  and  I  have  more  than  a 
tourist's  acquaintance  with  the  magic  craft  of  that 
region.  One  does  not  care  to  speak  about  these  strange 
powers,  but  once  in  a  way,  when  one  hears  a  lot  of 
nonsense  being  talked  about  them,  one  is  tempted  to 
show  what  Siberian  magic  can  accomplish  in  the 
hands  of  some  one  who  really  understands  it.  I 
yielded  to  that  temptation.  May  I  have  some  brandy  ? 
the  eflFort  has  left  me  rather  faint." 

If  Leonard  Bilsiter  could  at  that  moment  have 
transformed  Clovis  into  a  cockroach  and  then  have 
stepped  on  him  he  would  gladly  have  performed  both 
operations. 


LAURA 

•*  "VT'OU  are  not  really  dying,  are  you  ? "  asked 

X        Amanda. 

"  I  have  the  doctor's  permission  to  live  till  Tuesday," 
said  Laura. 

**  But  to-day  is  Saturday  ;  this  is  serious  I  "  gasped 
Amanda. 

"  I  don't  know  about  it  being  serious  ;  it  is  certainly 
Saturday,"  said  Laura. 

"  Death  is  always  serious,"  said  Amanda. 

"  I  never  said  I  was  going  to  die.  I  am  presumably 
going  to  leave  off  being  Laura,  but  I  shall  go  on  being 
something.  An  animal  of  some  kind,  I  suppose. 
You  see,  when  one  hasn't  been  very  good  in  the  life 
one  has  just  lived,  one  reincarnates  in  some  lower 
organism.  And  I  haven't  been  very  good,  when  one 
comes  to  think  of  it.  I've  been  petty  and  mean  and 
vindictive  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  when  circumstances 
have  seemed  to  warrant  it." 

"  Circumstances  never  warrant  that  sort  of  thing," 
said  Amanda  hastily. 

"  If  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,"  observed  Laura, 
"  Egbert  is  a  circumstance  that  would  warrant  any 
amount  of  that  sort  of  thing.  You're  married  to 
him — that's  different  ;  you've  sworn  to  love,  honour, 
and  endure  him  :    I  haven't." 

"  I  don't  see  what's  wrong  with  Egbert,"  protested 
Amanda 

10 


LAURA 

**  Oh,  I  dare  say  the  wrongness  has  been  on  my 
part,"  admitted  Laura  dispassionately  ;  "  he  has 
merely  been  the  extenuating  circumstance.  He  made 
a  thin,  peevish  kind  of  fuss,  for  instance,  when  I  took 
the  collie  puppies  from  the  farm  out  for  a  run  the 
other  day." 

"  They  chased  his  young  broods  of  speckled  Sussex 
and  drove  two  sitting  hens  off  their  nests,  besides 
running  all  over  the  flower  beds.  You  know  how 
devoted  he  is  to  his  poultry  and  garden." 

"  Anyhow,  he  needn't  have  gone  on  about  it  for 
the  entire  evening  and  then  have  said,  '  Let's  say  no 
more  about  it*  just  when  I  was  beginning  to  enjoy 
the  discussion.  That's  where  one  of  my  petty  vindic- 
tive revenges  came  in,"  added  Laura  with  an  unre- 
pentant chuckle  ;  "  I  turned  the  entire  family  of 
speckled  Sussex  into  his  seedling  shed  the  day  after  the 
puppy  episode." 

"  How  could  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Amanda. 

"  It  came  quite  easy,"  said  Laura  ;  "  two  of  the 
hens  pretended  to  be  laying  at  the  time,  but  I  was 
firm." 

"  And  we  thought  it  was  an  accident  !  " 

**  You  see,"  resumed  Laura,  "  I  really  have  some 
grounds  for  supposing  that  my  next  incarnation  will 
be  in  a  lower  organism.  I  shall  be  an  animal  of  some 
kind.  On  the  other  hand,  I  haven't  been  a  bad  sort 
in  my  way,  so  I  think  I  may  count  on  being  a  nice 
animal,  something  elegant  and  lively,  with  a  love  of 
fun.     An  otter,  perhaps." 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  as  an  otter,"  said  Amanda. 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  you  can  imagine  me  as  an 
angel,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Laura. 

Amanda  was  silent.     She  couldn't. 
II 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Personally  I  think  an  otter  life  would  be  rather 
enjoyable,"  continued  Laura  ;  "  salmon  to  eat  all  the 
year  round,  and  the  satisfaction  of  being  able  to  fetch 
the  trout  in  their  own  homes  without  having  to  wait 
for  hours  till  they  condescend  to  rise  to  the  fly  you've 
been  dangling  before  them  ;  and  an  elegant  svelte 
figure " 

"  Think  of  the  otter  hounds,"  interposed  Amanda  ; 
**  how  dreadful  to  be  hunted  and  harried  and  finally 
worried  to  death  !  " 

"  Rather  fun  with  half  the  neighbourhood  looking 
on,  and  anyhow  not  worse  than  this  Saturday-to- 
Tuesday  business  of  dying  by  inches  ;  and  then  I  should 
go  on  into  something  else.  If  I  had  been  a  moder- 
ately good  otter  I  suppose  I  should  get  back  into  human 
shape  of  some  sort  ;  probably  something  rather  primi- 
tive— a  little  brown,  unclothed  Nubian  boy,  I  should 
think." 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  serious,"  sighed  Amanda  ; 
**  you  really  ought  to  be  if  you're  only  going  to  live  till 
Tuesday." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Laura  died  on  Monday. 

"  So  dreadfully  upsetting,"  Amanda  complained  to 
her  uncle-in-law.  Sir  Lulworth  Quayne.  "  I've  asked 
quite  a  lot  of  people  down  for  golf  and  fishing,  and  the 
rhododendrons  are  just  looking  their  best." 

"  Laura  always  was  inconsiderate,"  said  Sir  Lul- 
worth ;  "  she  was  born  during  Goodwood  week,  with 
an  Ambassador  staying  in  the  house  who  hated  babies." 

"  She  had  the  maddest  kind  of  ideas,"  said  Amanda  ; 
**  do  you  know  if  there  was  any  insanity  in  her  family?  " 

"  Insanity  ?  No,  I  never  heard  of  any.  Her  father 
lives  in  West  Kensington,  but  I  believe  he's  sane  on  all 
other  subjects" 

12 


LAURA 

"She  had  an  idea  that  she  was  going  to  be  rein- 
carnated as  an  otter,"  said  Amanda. 

"  One  meets  with  those  ideas  of  reincarnation  so 
frequently,  even  in  the  West,"  said  Sir  Lulworth, 
"  that  one  can  hardly  set  them  down  as  being  mad. 
And  Laura  was  such  an  unaccountable  person  in  this 
life  that  I  should  not  like  to  lay  down  definite  rules  as 
to  what  she  might  be  doing  in  an  after  state." 

"  You  think  she  really  might  have  passed  into  some 
animal  form  ?  "  asked  Amanda.  She  was  one  of  those 
who  shape  their  opinions  rather  readily  from  the  stand- 
point of  those  around  them. 

Just  then  Egbert  entered  the  breakfast- room,  wear- 
ing an  air  of  bereavement  that  Laura's  demise  would 
have  been  insufficient,  in  itself,  to  account  for. 

"  Four  of  my  speckled  Sussex  have  been  killed,"  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  the  very  four  that  were  to  go  to  the 
show  on  Friday.  One  of  them  was  dragged  away  and 
eaten  right  in  the  middle  of  that  new  carnation  bed 
that  I've  been  to  such  trouble  and  expense  over.  My 
best  flower  bed  and  my  best  fowls  singled  out  for 
destruction  ;  it  almost  seems  as  if  the  brute  that  did 
the  deed  had  special  knowledge  how  to  be  as  devastating 
as  possible  in  a  short  space  of  time." 

"  Was  it  a  fox,  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  Amanda. 

"  Sounds  more  hke  a  polecat,"  said  Sir  Lul- 
worth. 

"  No,"  said  Egbert,  "  there  were  marks  of  webbed 
feet  all  over  the  place,  and  we  followed  the  tracks  down 
to  the  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  j  evidently 
an  otter." 

Amanda  looked  quickly  and  furtively  across  at  Sir 
Lulworth. 

Egbert  was  too  agitated  to  eat  any  breakfast,  and 
13 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

went  out  to  superintend  the  strengthening  of  the 
poultry  yard  defences. 

"  I  think  she  might  at  least  have  waited  till  the 
funeral  was  over,"  said  Amanda  in  a  scandalized 
voice. 

"  It's  her  own  funeral,  you  know,"  said  Sir  Lul- 
worth  ;  "  it's  a  nice  point  in  etiquette  how  far  one 
ought  to  show  respect  to  one*s  own  mortal  remains." 

Disregard  for  mortuary  convention  was  carried  to 
further  lengths  next  day  ;  during  the  absence  of  the 
family  at  the  funeral  ceremony  the  remaining  survivors 
of  the  speckled  Sussex  were  massacred.  The  mar- 
auder's line  of  retreat  seemed  to  have  embraced  most 
of  the  flower  beds  on  the  lawn,  but  the  strawberry 
beds  in  the  lower  garden  had  also  suffered. 

"  I  shall  get  the  otter  hounds  to  come  here  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment,"  said  Egbert  savagely. 

"  On  no  account  !  You  can't  dream  of  such  a 
thing  !  "  exclaimed  Amanda.  "  I  mean,  it  wouldn't 
do,  so  soon  after  a  funeral  in  the  house." 

•*  It's  a  case  of  necessity,"  said  Egbert  ;  "  once 
an  otter  takes  to  that  sort  of  thing  it  won't  stop." 

"  Perhaps  it  will  go  elsewhere  now  that  there  are  no 
more  fowls  left,"  suggested  Amanda. 

"  One  would  think  you  wanted  to  shield  the  beast," 
said  Egbert. 

"  There's  been  so  little  water  in  the  stream  lately," 
objected  Amanda  ;  "  it  seems  hardly  sporting  to  hunt 
an  animal  when  it  has  so  little  chance  of  taking  refuge 
anywhere." 

"  Good  gracious  1  "  fumed  Egbert,  "  I'm  not 
thinking  about  sport.  I  want  to  have  the  animal 
killed  as  soon  as  possible." 

Even  Amanda's  opposition  weakened  when,  during 

14 


LAURA 

church  time  on  the  following  Sunday,  the  otter  made 
its  way  into  the  house,  raided  half  a  salmon  from  the 
larder  and  worried  it  into  scaly  fragments  on  the 
Persian  rug  in  Egbert's  studio, 

"  We  shall  have  it  hiding  under  our  beds  and  biting 
pieces  out  of  our  feet  before  long,"  said  Egbert,  and 
from  what  Amanda  knew  of  this  particular  otter  she 
felt  that  the  possibility  was  not  a  remote  one. 

On  the  evening  preceding  the  day  fixed  for  the  hunt 
Amanda  spent  a  solitary  hour  walking  by  the  banks 
of  the  stream,  making  what  she  imagined  to  be  hound 
noises.  It  was  charitably  supposed  by  those  who 
overheard  her  performance,  that  she  was  practising 
for  farmyard  imitations  at  the  forthcoming  village 
entertainment. 

It  was  her  friend  and  neighbour,  Aurora  Burret, 
who  brought  her  news  of  the  day's  sport. 

"  Pity  you  weren't  out  ;  we  had  quite  a  good  day. 
We  found  at  once,  in  the  pool  just  below  your  garden." 

"  Did  you — kill  ?  "  asked  Amanda. 

"  Rather.  A  fine  she-otter.  Your  husband  got 
rather  badly  bitten  in  trying  to  '  tail  it.'  Poor  beast, 
I  felt  quite  sorry  for  it,  it  had  such  a  human  look  in 
its  eyes  when  it  was  killed.  You'll  call  me  silly,  but 
do  you  know  who  the  look  reminded  me  of?  My 
dear  woman,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

When  Amanda  had  recovered  to  a  certain  extent 
from  her  attack  of  nervous  prostration  Egbert  took  her 
to  the  Nile  Valley  to  recuperate.  Change  of  scene 
speedily  brought  about  the  desired  recovery  of  health 
and  mental  balance.  The  escapades  of  an  adventurous 
otter  in  search  of  a  variation  of  diet  were  viewed  in 
their  proper  light,  Amanda's  normally  placid  tempera- 
ment reasserted  itself.     Even  a  hurricane  of  shouted 

15  B 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

curses,  coming  from  her  husband's  dressing-room,  in 
her  husband's  voice,  but  hardly  in  his  usual  vocabulary, 
failed  to  disturb  her  serenity  as  she  made  a  leisurely 
toilet  one  evening  in  a  Cairo  hotel. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 
she  asked  in  amused  curiosity. 

"The  little  beast  has  thrown  all  my  clean  shirts 
into  the  bath  !     Wait  till  I  catch  you,  you  little " 

"  What  little  beast  ?  "  asked  Amanda,  suppressing 
a  desire  to  laugh  ;  Egbert's  language  w^as  so  hopelessly 
inadequate  to  express  his  outraged  feelings. 

"A  little  beast  of  a  naked  brown  Nubian  boy," 
spluttered  Egbert. 

And  now  Amanda  is  seriously  ill. 


i6 


THE      BOAR-PIG 

"  ^  I  ^HERE  fs  a  back  way  on  to  the  lawn,"  said 

A  Mrs.  Philidore  Stossen  to  her  daughter, 
**  through  a  small  grass  paddock  and  then  through  a 
walled  fruit  garden  full  of  gooseberry  bushes.  I 
went  all  over  the  place  last  year  when  the  family  were 
away.  There  is  a  door  that  opens  from  the  fruit 
garden  into  a  shrubbery,  and  once  we  emerge  from 
there  we  can  mingle  with  the  guests  as  if  we  had  come 
in  by  the  ordinary  way.  It's  much  safer  than  going 
in  by  the  front  entrance  and  running  the  risk  of  coming 
bang  up  against  the  hostess  ;  that  would  be  so  awkward 
when  she  doesn't  happen  to  have  invited  us." 

"  Isn't  it  a  lot  of  trouble  to  take  for  getting  admit- 
tance to  a  garden  party  ?  " 

"  To  a  garden  party,  yes  ;  to  the  garden  party  of 
the  season,  certainly  not.  Every  one  of  any  conse- 
quence in  the  county,  with  the  exception  of  ourselves, 
has  been  asked  to  meet  the  Princess,  and  it  would  be 
far  more  troublesome  to  invent  explanations  as  to  why 
we  weren't  there  than  to  get  in  by  a  roundabout  way. 
I  stopped  Mrs.  Cuvering  in  the  road  yesterday  and 
talked  very  pointedly  about  the  Princess.  If  she  didn't 
choose  to  take  the  hint  and  send  me  an  invitation  it's 
not  my  fault,  is  it  ?  Here  we  are  :  we  just  cut 
across  the  grass  and  through  that  little  gate  into  the 
garden." 

Mrs.  Stossen  and  her  daughter,  suitably  arrayed  for 
17 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

a  county  garden  party  function  with  an  infusion  of 
Almanack  de  Gotha,  sailed  through  the  narrow  grass 
paddock  and  the  ensuing  gooseberry  garden  with  the 
air  of  state  barges  making  an  unofficial  progress  along 
a  rural  trout  stream.  There  was  a  certain  amount  of 
furtive  haste  mingled  with  the  stateliness  of  their  ad- 
vance as  though  hostile  searchlights  might  be  turned  on 
them  at  any  moment ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
not  unobserved.  Matilda  Cuvering,  with  the  alert  eyes 
of  thirteen  years  old  and  the  added  advantage  of  an 
exalted  position  in  the  branches  of  a  medlar  tree,  had 
enjoyed  a  good  view  of  the  Stossen  flanking  movement 
and  had  forese^sn  exactly  where  it  would  break  down  in 
execution. 

"  They'll  find  the  door  locked,  and  they'll  jolly 
well  have  to  go  back  the  way  they  came,"  she  remarked 
to  herself.  "  Serves  them  right  for  not  coming  in  by 
the  proper  entrance.  What  a  pity  Tarquin  Superbus 
isn't  loose  in  the  paddock.  After  all,  as  every  one  else 
is  enjoying  themselves,  I  don't  see  why  Tarquin 
shouldn't  have  an  afternoon  out." 

Matilda  was  of  an  age  when  thought  is  action  ; 
she  slid  down  from  the  branches  of  the  medlar  tree, 
and  when  she  clambered  back  again,  Tarquin,  the  huge 
white  Yorkshire  boar-pig,  had  exchanged  the  narrow 
limits  of  his  sty  for  the  wider  range  of  the  grass 
paddock.  The  discomfited  Stossen  expedition,  return- 
ing in  recriminatory  but  otherwise  orderly  retreat  from 
the  unyielding  obstacle  of  the  locked  door,  came  to  a 
sudden  halt  at  the  gate  dividing  the  paddock  from  the 
gooseberry  garden. 

"  What  a  villainous-looking  animal,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Stossen  ;    "  it  wasn't  there  when  we  came  in." 

*'  It's    there    now,    anyhow,"    said    her   daughter 
i8 


THE      BOAR-PIG 

"  What  on  earth  are  we  to  do  ?  I  wish  we  had  never 
come." 

The  boar-pig  had  drawn  nearer  to  the  gate  for  a 
closer  inspection  of  the  human  intruders,  and  stood 
champing  his  jaws  and  blinking  his  small  red  eyes  in 
a  manner  that  was  doubtless  intended  to  be  discon- 
certing, and,  as  far  as  the  Stossens  were  concerned, 
thoroughly  achieved  that  result. 

"  Shoo  !  Hish  !  Hish  !  Shoo  !  "  cried  the  ladies 
in  chorus. 

"  If  they  think  they're  going  to  drive  him  away 
by  reciting  lists  of  the  kings  of  Israel  and  Judah  they're 
laying  themselves  out  for  disappointment,"  observed 
Matilda  from  her  seat  in  the  medlar  tree.  As  she 
made  the  observation  aloud  Mrs.  Stossen  became  for 
the  first  time  aware  of  her  presence.  A  moment  or 
two  earlier  she  would  have  been  anything  but  pleased 
at  the  discovery  that  the  garden  was  not  as  deserted  as 
it  looked,  but  now  she  hailed  the  fact  of  the  child's 
presence  on  the  scene  with  absolute  relief. 

"  Little  girl,  can  you  find  some  one  to  drive  away 
"  she  began  hopefully. 

"  Comment  ?     Comprends  pas**  was  the  response. 

"  Oh,  are  you  French  ?     Etes  vous  frangaise  ?  ** 

"  Pas  de  ious.     *Suis  anzlaise." 

"  Then  why  not  talk  English  ?  I  want  to  know 
if " 

"  Permettez-moi  expliquer.  You  see,  I'm  rather 
under  a  cloud,"  said  Matilda.  "  I'm  staying  with  my 
aunt,  and  I  was  told  I  must  behave  particularly  well 
to-day,  as  lots  of  people  were  coming  for  a  garden 
party,  and  I  was  told  to  imitate  Claude,  that's  my 
young  cousin,  who  never  does  anything  wrong  except 
by  accident,  and  then  is  always  apologetic  about  it. 

19 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

It  seems  they  thought  I  ate  too  much  raspberry  trifle 
at  lunch,  and  they  said  Claude  never  eats  too  much 
raspberry  trifle.  Well,  Claude  always  goes  to  sleep 
for  half  an  hour  after  lunch,  because  he's  told  to,  and 
I  waited  till  he  was  asleep,  and  tied  his  hands  and 
started  forcible  feeding  with  a  whole  bucketful  of  rasp- 
berry trifle  that  they  were  keeping  for  the  garden- 
party.  Lots  of  it  went  on  to  his  sailor-suit  and  some 
of  it  on  to  the  bed,  but  a  good  deal  went  down  Claude's 
throat,  and  they  can't  say  again  that  he  has  never  been 
known  to  eat  too  much  raspberry  trifle.  That  is 
why  I  am  not  allowed  to  go  to  the  party,  and  as  an 
additional  punishment  I  must  speak  French  all  the 
afternoon.  I've  had  to  tell  you  all  this  in  English, 
as  there  were  words  like  '  forcible  feeding '  that  I 
didn't  know  the  French  for  ;  of  course  I  could  have 
invented  them,  but  if  I  had  said  nourriture  ohligato'tre 
you  wouldn't  have  had  the  least  idea  what  I  was 
talking  about.     Mais  maintenant,  nous parlonsfranfais." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  trh  bien,^*  said  Mrs,  Stossen 
reluctantly  ;  in  moments  of  flurry  such  French  as 
she  knew  was  not  under  very  good  control.  "  Ld,  d 
I'autre  cote  de  la  parte,  est  un  cochon " 

"  TJn  cochon  ?  Ah,  le  petit  charmant  !  "  exclaimed 
Matilda  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Mais  non,  pas  du  tout  petit,  et  pas  du  tout  char- 
mant ;  un  beteferoce " 

**  Une  bete,"  corrected  Matilda  ;  "  a  pig  is  masculine 
as  long  as  you  call  it  a  pig,  but  if  you  lose  your  temper 
with  it  and  call  it  a  ferocious  beast  it  becomes  one  of 
us  at  once      French  is  a  dreadfully  unsexing  language." 

"  For  goodness'  sake  let  us  talk  English  then,"  said 
Mrs.  Stossen.     "  Is  there  any  way  out  of  this  garden 
except  through  the  paddock  where  the  pig  is  ?  " 
20 


THE      BOAR-PIG 

**  I  always  go  over  the  wall,  by  way  of  the  plum 
tree,"  said  Matilda. 

"  Dressed  as  we  are  we  could  hardly  do  that," 
said  Mrs.  Stossen  ;  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  her  doing 
it  in  any  costume. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  go  and  get  some  one 
who  would  drive  the  pig  away  ? "  saked  Miss 
Stossen. 

"  I  promised  my  aunt  I  would  stay  here  till  five 
o'clock  ;    it's  not  four  yet." 

"  I  am  sure,  under  the  circumstances,  your  aunt 
would  permit " 

"  My  conscience  would  not  permit,"  said  Matilda 
with  Cold  dignity. 

"  We  can't  stay  here  till  five  o'clock,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Stossen  with  growing  exasperation. 

"  Shall  I  recite  to  you  to  make  the  time  pass 
quicker  ?  "  asked  Matilda  obligingly.  "  '  Belinda, 
the  little  Breadwinner,'  is  considered  my  best  piece, 
or,  perhaps,  it  ought  to  be  something  in  French. 
Henri  Quatre's  address  to  his  soldiers  is  the  only  thing 
I  really  know  in  that  language." 

"  If  you  will  go  and  fetch  some  one  to  drive  that 
animal  away  I  will  give  you  something  to  buy  yourself 
a  nice  present,"  said  Mrs.  Stossen. 

Matilda  came  several  inches  lower  down  the  medlar 
tree. 

"That  is  the  most  practical  suggestion  you  have 
made  yet  for  getting  out  of  the  garden,"  she  remarked 
cheerfully  ;  "  Claude  and  I  are  collecting  money  for 
the  Children's  Fresh  Air  Fund,  and  we  are  seeing 
which  of  us  can  collect  the  biggest  sum." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  contribute  half  a  crown, 
very  glad  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Stossen,  digging  that  coin 

21 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

out  of  the  depths  of  a  receptacle  which   formed  a 
detached  outwork  of  her  toilet. 

"  Claude  is  a  long  way  ahead  of  me  at  present," 
continued  Matilda,  taking  no  notice  of  the  suggested 
offering  ;  "  you  see,  he's  only  eleven,  and  has  golden 
hair,  and  those  are  enormous  advantages  when  you're 
on  the  collecting  job.  Only  the  other  day  a  Russian 
lady  gave  him  ten  shillings.  Russians  understand  the 
art  of  giving  far  better  than  we  do.  I  expect  Claude 
will  net  quite  twenty-five  shillings  this  afternoon  ; 
he'll  have  the  field  to  himself,  and  he'll  be  able  to  do 
the  pale,  fragile,  not-long-for-this-world  business  to 
perfection  after  his  raspberry  trifle  experience.  Yes, 
he'll  be  quite  two  pounds  ahead  of  me  by  now." 

With  much  probing  and  plucking  and  many  regretful 
murmurs  the  beleaguered  ladies  managed  to  produce 
seven-and-sixpence  between  them. 

"  I  am  afraid  this  is  all  we've  got,"  said  Mrs.  Stossen. 
Matilda  showed  no  sign  of  coming  down  either  to 
the  earth  or  to  their  figure. 

"  I  could  not  do  violence  to  my  conscience  for  any- 
thing less  than  ten  shillings,"  she  announced  stiffly. 

Mother  and  daughter  muttered  certain  remarks 
under  their  breath,  in  which  the  word  "  beast "  was 
prominent,  and  probably  had  no  reference  to  Tarquin. 
"  I  find  I  have  got  another  half-crown,"  said  Mrs. 
Stossen  in  a  shaking  voice  ;  "  here  you  are.  Now 
please  fetch  some  one  quickly." 

Matilda  slipped  down  from  the  tree,  took  possession 
or'  the  donation,  and  proceeded  to  pick  up  a  handful 
of  over-ripe  medlars  from  the  grass  at  her  feet.  Then 
she  climbed  over  the  gate  and  addressed  herself  affec- 
tionately to  the  boar-pig. 

"  Come,  Tarquin,  dear  old  boy  ;    you  know  you 
22 


THE      BOAR-PIG 

<an't  resist  medlars  when  they're  rotten  and  squashy." 
Tarquin  couldn't.  By  dint  of  throwing  the  fruit 
in  front  of  him  at  judicious  intervals  Matilda  decoyed 
him  back  to  his  sty,  while  the  delivered  captives  hurried 
across  the  paddock. 

"  Well,  I  never  !  The  little  minx  I  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Stossen  when  she  was  safely  on  the  high  road. 
"  The  animal  wasn't  savage  at  all,  and  as  for  the  ten 
shillings,  I  don't  believe  the  Fresh  Air  Fund  will  see 
a  penny  of  it  !  " 

There  she  was  unwarrantably  harsh  in  her  judg- 
ment. If  you  examine  the  books  of  the  fund  you 
will  find  the  acknowledgment  :  "  Collected  by  Miss 
Matilda  Cuvering,  2s.  6d." 


23 


THE      BROGUE 

THE  hunting  season  had  come  to  an  end,  and 
the  Mullets  had  not  succeeded  in  selling  the 
Brogue.  There  had  been  a  kind  of  tradition  in  the 
family  for  the  past  three  or  four  years,  a  sort  of  fatalistic 
hope,  that  the  Brogue  would  find  a  purchaser  before 
the  hunting  was  over;  but  seasons  came  and  went 
without  anything  happening  to  justify  such  ill-founded 
optimism.  The  animal  had  been  named  Berserker 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  its  career  ;  it  had  been  re- 
christened  the  Brogue  later  on,  in  recognition  of  the 
fact  that,  once  acquired,  it  was  extremely  difficult  to 
get  rid  of.  The  unkinder  wits  of  the  neighbourhood 
had  been  known  to  suggest  that  the  first  letter  of  its 
name  was  superfluous.  The  Brogue  had  been 
variously  described  in  sale  catalogues  as  a  light-weight 
hunter,  a  lady's  hack,  and,  more  simply,  but  still  with 
a  touch  of  imagination,  as  a  useful  brown  gelding, 
standing  15.1.  Toby  Mullet  had  ridden  him  for  four 
seasons  with  the  West  Wessex  ;  you  can  ride  almost 
any  sort  of  horse  with  the  West  Wessex  as  long  as  it 
is  an  animal  that  knows  the  country.  The  Brogue 
knew  the  country  intimately,  having  personally  created 
most  of  the  gaps  that  were  to  be  met  with  in  banks  and 
hedges  for  many  miles  round.  His  manners  and 
characteristics  were  not  ideal  in  the  hunting  field,  but 
he  was  probably  rather  safer  to  ride  to  hounds  than 
he  was  as  a  hack  on  country  roads.     According  to 

24 


THE      BROGUE 

the  Mullet  family,  he  was  not  really  road-shy,  but 
there  were  one  or  two  objects  of  dislike  that  brought 
on  sudden  attacks  of  what  Toby  called  swerving 
sickness.  Motors  and  cycles  he  treated  with  tolerant 
disregard,  but  pigs,  wheelbarrows,  piles  of  stones  by 
the  roadside,  perambulators  in  a  village  street,  gates 
painted  too  aggressively  white,  and  sometimes,  but  not 
always,  the  newer  kind  of  beehives,  turned  him  aside 
from  his  tracks  in  vivid  imitation  of  the  zigzag  course 
of  forked  lightning.  If  a  pheasant  rose  noisily  from 
the  other  side  of  a  hedgerow  the  Brogue  would  spring 
into  the  air  at  the  same  moment,  but  this  may  have 
been  due  to  a  desire  to  be  companionable.  The  Mullet 
family  contradicted  the  widely  prevalent  report  that 
the  horse  was  a  confirmed  crib-biter. 

It  was  about  the  third  week  in  May  that  Mrs. 
Mullet,  relict  of  the  late  Sylvester  Mullet,  and 
mother  of  Toby  and  a  bunch  of  daughters,  assailed 
Clovis  Sangrail  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  with  a 
breathless  catalogue  of  local  happenings. 

"  You  know  our  new  neighbour,  Mr.  Penricarde  ?  " 
she  vociferated  ;  "  awfully  rich,  owns  tin  mines  in 
Cornwall,  middle-aged  and  rather  quiet.  He's  taken 
the  Red  House  on  a  long  lease  and  spent  a  lot  of 
money  on  alterations  and  improvements.  Well, 
Toby's  sold  him  the  Brogue  !  " 

Clovis  spent  a  moment  or  two  in  assimilating  the 
astonishing  new^ ;  then  he  broke  out  into  unstinted  con- 
gratulation. If  he  had  belonged  to  a  more  emotional 
race  he  would  probably  have  kissed  Mrs.  Mullet. 

"  How  wonderful  lucky  to  have  pulled  it  off  at 
last  !  Now  you  can  buy  a  decent  animal.  I've 
always  said  that  Toby  was  clever.  Ever  so  many 
congratulations." 

25 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Don't  congratulate  me.  It's  the  most  unfortu- 
nate thing  that  could  have  happened  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Mullet  dramatically. 

Clovis  stared  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Mr.  Penricarde,"  said  Mrs.  Mullet,  sinking  her 
voice  to  w^hat  she  imagined  to  be  an  impressive  whisper, 
though  it  rather  resembled  a  hoarse,  excited  squeak, 
"  Mr.  Penricarde  has  just  begun  to  pay  attentions  to 
Jessie.  Slight  at  first,  but  now  unmistakable.  I  was 
a  fool  not  to  have  seen  it  sooner.  Yesterday,  at  the 
Rectory  garden  party,  he  asked  her  what  her  favourite 
flowers  were,  and  she  told  him  carnations,  and  to-day 
a  whole  stack  of  carnations  has  arrived,  clove  and 
malmaison  and  lovely  dark  red  ones,  regular  exhibition 
blooms,  and  a  box  of  chocolates  that  he  must  have 
got  on  purpose  from  London.  And  he's  asked  her  to 
go  round  the  links  with  him  to-morrow.  And  now, 
just  at  this  critical  moment,  Toby  has  sold  him  that 
animal.      It's  a  calamity  !  " 

"  But  you've  been  trying  to  get  the  horse  off  your 
hands  for  years,"  said  Clovis. 

"  I've  got  a  houseful  of  daughters,"  said  Mrs. 
Mullet,  *'  and  I've  been  trying — well,  not  to  get  them 
off  my  hands,  of  course,  but  a  husband  or  two  wouldn't 
be  amiss  among  the  lot  of  them  ;  there  are  six  of 
them,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Clovis,  "  I've  never  counted, 
but  I  expect  you're  right  as  to  the  number  ;  mothers 
generally  know  these  things." 

"  And  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Mullet,  in  her  tragic 
whisper,  "  when  there's  a  rich  husband-in-prospcct 
imminent  on  the  horizon  Toby  goes  and  sells  him  that 
miserable  animal.  It  will  probably  kill  him  if  he  tries 
to  ride  it ;  anyway  it  will  kill  any  affection  he  might 
26 


THE      BROGUE 

have  felt  towards  any  member  of  our  family.  What 
is  to  be  done  ?  We  can't  very  well  ask  to  have 
the  horse  back  ;  you  see,  we  praised  it  up  like 
anything  when  we  thought  there  was  a  chance  of  his 
buying  it,  and  said  it  was  just  the  animal  to  suit 
him." 

"  Couldn't  you  steal  it  out  of  his  stable  and  send  it 
to  grass  at  some  farm  miles  away  ?  "  suggested  Clovis  ; 
*'  write  '  Votes  for  Women '  on  the  stable  door,  and 
the  thing  would  pass  for  a  Suffragette  outrage.  No 
one  who  knew  the  horse  could  possibly  suspect  you  of 
wanting  to  get  it  back  again." 

"  Every  newspaper  in  the  country  would  ring  with 
the  affair,"  said  Mrs.  Mullet ;  "  can't  you  imagine  the 
headline,  '  Valuable  Hunter  Stolen  by  Suffragettes '  ? 
The  police  would  scour  the  countryside  till  they  found 
the  animal." 

"  Well,  Jessie  must  try  and  get  it  back  from  Penri- 
carde  on  the  plea  that  it's  an  old  favourite.  She  can 
say  it  was  only  sold  because  the  stable  had  to  be  pulled 
down  under  the  terms  of  an  old  repairing  lease,  and 
that  now  it  has  been  arranged  that  the  stable  is  to 
stand  for  a  couple  of  years  longer." 

"  It  sounds  a  queer  proceeding  to  ask  for  a  horse 
back  when  you've  just  sold  him,"  said  Mrs.  Mullet, 
"  but  something  must  be  done,  and  done  at  once. 
The  man  is  not  used  to  horses,  and  I  believe  I  told 
him  it  was  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  After  all,  lambs  go 
kicking  and  twisting  about  as  if  they  were  demented, 
don't  they  ?  " 

"  The  lamb  has  an  entirely  unmerited  character 
for  sedateness,"  agreed  Clovis. 

Jessie  came  back  from  the  golf  links  next  day  in  a 
state  of  mingled  elation  and  concern. 

27 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

'"'  It's  all  right  about  the  proposal,"  she  announced  ; 
*'  he  came  out  with  it  at  the  sixth  hole.  I  said  I  must 
have  time  to  think  it  over.  I  accepted  him  at  the 
seventh." 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  think  a  little 
more  maidenly  reserve  and  hesitation  would  have 
been  advisable,  as  you've  known  him  so  short  a  time. 
You  might  have  waited  till  the  ninth  hole." 

"  The  seventh  is  a  very  long  hole,"  said  Jessie  ; 
"besides,  the  tension  was  putting  us  both  off  our 
game.  By  the  time  we'd  got  to  the  ninth  hole  we'd 
settled  lots  of  things.  The  honeymoon  is  to  be  spent 
in  Corsica,  with  perhaps  a  flying  visit  to  Naples  if  we 
feel  like  it,  and  a  week  in  London  to  wind  up  with. 
Two  of  his  nieces  are  to  be  asked  to  be  bridesmaids, 
so  with  our  lot  there  will  be  seven,  which  is  rather 
a  lucky  number.  You  are  to  wear  your  pearl  grey, 
with  any  amount  of  Honiton  lace  jabbed  into  it.  By 
the  way,  he's  coming  over  this  evening  to  ask  your 
consent  to  the  whole  affair.  So  far  all's  well,  but 
about  the  Brogue  it's  a  different  matter.  I  told  him 
the  legend  about  the  stable,  and  how  keen  we  were 
about  buying  the  horse  back,  but  he  seems  equally 
keen  on  keeping  it.  He  said  he  must  have  horse 
exercise  now  that  he's  living  in  the  country,  and  he's 
going  to  start  riding  to-morrow.  He's  ridden  a  few 
times  in  the  Row  on  an  animal  that  was  accustomed  to 
carry  octogenarians  and  people  undergoing  rest  cures, 
and  that's  about  all  his  experience  in  the  saddle — oh, 
and  he  rode  a  pony  once  in  Norfolk,  when  he  was 
fifteen  and  the  pony  twenty-four  ;  and  to-morrow  he's 
going  to  ride  the  Brogue  !  I  shall  be  a  widow  before 
I'm  married,  and  I  do  so  want  to  see  what  Corsica's 
like  ;    it  looks  so  silly  on  the  map." 

28 


THE       BROGUE 

Clovis  was  sent  for  in  haste,  and  the  developments 
of  the  situation  put  before  him. 

"  Nobody  can  ride  that  animal  with  any  safety," 
said  Mrs.  Mullet,  "except  Toby,  and  he  knows  by 
long  experience  what  it  is  going  to  shy  at,  and  manages 
to  swerve  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  did  hint  to  Mr.  Penricarde — to  Vincent,  I 
should  say — that  the  Brogue  didn't  like  white  gates," 
said  Jessie. 

"  White  gates  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mullet ;  "  did 
you  mention  what  effect  a  pig  has  on  him  ?  He'll 
have  to  go  past  Lockyer's  farm  to  get  to  the  high 
road,  and  there's  sure  to  be  a  pig  or  two  grunting  about 
in  the  lane." 

"  He's  taken  rather  a  dislike  to  turkeys  lately," 
said  Toby. 

"  It's  obvious  that  Penricarde  mustn't  be  allowed 
to  go  out  on  that  animal,"  said  Clovis,  "  at  least  not 
till  Jessie  has  married  him,  and  tired  of  him.  I  tell 
you  what  :  ask  him  to  a  picnic  to-morrow,  starting 
at  an  early  hour  ;  he's  not  the  sort  to  go  out  for  a 
ride  before  breakfast.  The  day  after  I'll  get  the  rector 
to  drive  him  over  to  Crowleigh  before  lunch,  to  see 
the  new  cottage  hospital  they're  building  there.  The 
Brogue  will  be  standing  idle  in  the  stable  and  Toby 
can  offer  to  exercise  it  ;  then  it  can  pick  up  a  stone 
or  something  of  the  sort  and  go  conveniently  lame.  If 
you  hurry  on  the  wedding  a  bit  the  lameness  fiction 
can  be  kept  up  till  the  ceremony  is  safely  over." 

Mrs.  Mullet  belonged  to  an  emotional  race,  and 
she  kissed  Clovis. 

It  was  nobody's  fault  that  the  rain  came  down  in 
torrents  the  next  morning,  making  a  picnic  a  fantastic 
impossibility.  It  was  also  nobody's  fault,  but  sheer 
29 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

ill-luck,  that  the  weather  cleared  up  sufficiently  in  the 
afternoon  to  tempt  Mr.  Penricarde  to  make  his  first 
essay  with  the  Brogue.  They  did  not  get  as  far  as 
the  pigs  at  Lockyer's  farm  ;  the  rectory  gate  was 
painted  a  dull  unobtrusive  green,  but  it  had  been  white 
a  year  or  two  ago,  and  the  Brogue  never  forgot  that 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  making  a  violent  curtsey, 
a  back-pedal  and  a  swerve  at  this  particular  point  of 
the  road.  Subsequently,  there  being  apparently  no 
further  call  on  his  services,  he  broke  his  way  into  the 
rectory  orchard,  where  he  found  a  hen  turkey  in  a 
coop  ;  later  visitors  to  the  orchard  found  the  coop 
almost  intact,  but  very  little  left  of  the  turkey. 

Mr.  Penricarde,  a  little  stunned  and  shaken,  and 
suffering  from  a  bruised  knee  and  some  minor  damages, 
good-naturedly  ascribed  the  accident  to  his  own 
inexperience  with  horses  and  country  roads,  and  allowed 
Jessie  to  nurse  him  back  into  complete  recovery  and 
golf-fitness  within  something  less  than  a  week. 

In  the  list  of  wedding  presents  which  the  local 
newspaper  published  a  fortnight  or  so  later  appeared 
the  following  item  : 

"  Brown  saddle-horse,  'The  Brogue,'  bridegroom's 
gift  to  bride." 

"  Which  shows,"  said  Toby  Mullet,  "  that  he  kneM 
nothing." 

"  Or  else,"  said  Clovis,  "  that  he  has  a  very  pleasing 
wit." 


30 


THE       HEN 

"  T^ORA  BITTHOLZ  is  coming  on  Thursday," 

1  J     said  Mrs.  Sangrail. 

"  This  next  Thursday  ?  "  asked  Clovis. 

His  mother  nodded. 

"  You've  rather  done  it,  haven't  you  ?  '*  he 
chuckled  ;  "  Jane  Martlet  has  only  been  here  five 
days,  and  she  never  stays  less  than  a  fortnight,  even 
when  she's  asked  definitely  for  a  week.  You'll  never 
get  her  out  of  the  house  by  Thursday." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sangrail  ;  "  she 
and  Dora  are  good  friends,  aren't  they  ?  They  used 
to  be,  as  far  as  I  remember." 

"  They  used  to  be  ;  that's  what  makes  them  all 
the  more  bitter  now.  Each  feels  that  she  has  nursed 
a  viper  in  her  bosom.  Nothing  fans  the  flame  of 
human  resentment  so  much  as  the  discovery  that  one's 
bosom  has  been  utilized  as  a  snake  sanatorium." 

"  But  what  has  happened  ?  Has  some  one  been 
making  mischief  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  a  hen  came  between 
them." 

"  A  hen  ?     What  hen  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  bronze  Leghorn  or  some  such  exotic 
breed,  and  Dora  sold  it  to  Jane  at  a  rather  exotic  price. 
They  both  go  in  for  prize  poultry,  you  know,  and 
Jane  thought  she  was  going  to  get  her  money  back  in 
a  large  family  of  pedigree  chickens.     The  bird  turned 

31 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

out  to  be  an  abstainer  from  the  egg  habit,  and  I'm  told 
that  the  letters  which  passed  between  the  two  women 
were  a  revelation  as  to  how  much  invective  could  be 
got  on  to  a  sheet  of  notepaper." 

"  How  ridiculous  I  "  said  Mrs.  Sangrail,  "  Couldn't 
some  of  their  friends  compose  the  quarrel  ?  " 

"  People  tried,"  said  Clovis,  "  but  it  must  have 
been  rather  like  composing  the  storm  music  of  the 
*  Fliegende  Hollander.'  Jane  was  willing  to  take  back 
some  of  her  most  libellous  remarks  if  Dora  would 
take  back  the  hen,  but  Dora  said  that  would  be  owning 
herself  in  the  wrong,  and  you  know  she'd  as  soon  think 
of  owning  slum  property  in  Whitechapel  as  do  that." 

"  It's  a  most  awkward  situation,"  said  Mrs.  Sangrail. 
"  Do  you  suppose  they  won't  speak  to  one  another?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  difficulty  will  be  to  get  them 
to  leave  off.  Their  remarks  on  each  other's  conduct 
and  character  have  hitherto  been  governed  by  the  fact 
that  only  four  ounces  of  plain  speaking  can  be  sent 
through  the  post  for  a  penny." 

"  I  can't  put  Dora  off,"  said  Mrs.  Sangrail.  "  I've 
already  postponed  her  visit  once,  and  nothing  short  of 
a  miracle  would  make  Jane  leave  before  her  self- 
allotted   fortnight  is  over." 

"  Miracles  are  rather  in  my  line,"  said  Clovis.  "  I 
don't  pretend  to  be  very  hopeful  in  this  case,  tut  I'll 
do  my  best." 

"  As    long   as    you    don't   drag   me    into    it " 

stipulated  his  mother, 

"  Servants  are  a  bit  of  a  ntn'sance,"  muttered  Clovis, 
as  he  sat  in  the  smoking-room  after  lunch,  talking 
fitfully  to  Jane  Martlet  in  the  intervals  of  putting 
together  the  m.aterials  of  a  cocktail,  which  he  had 


THE       HEN 

irreverently  patented  under  the  name  of  an  Ella 
Wheeler  Wilcox.  It  was  partly  compounded  of  old 
brandy  and  partly  of  cura^oa  ;  there  were  other  ingre- 
dients, but  they  were  never  indiscriminately  revealed. 

"  Servants  a  nuisance  I  "  exclaimed  Jane,  bounding 
into  the  topic  with  the  exuberant  plunge  of  a  hunter 
when  it  leaves  the  high  road  and  feels  turf  under  its 
hoofs  ;  "  I  should  think  they  were  !  The  trouble 
I've  had  in  getting  suited  this  year  you  would  hardly 
believe.  But  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  complain 
of — your  mother  is  so  wonderfully  lucky  in  her  ser- 
vants. Sturridge,  for  instance — he's  been  with  you 
for  years,  and  I'm  sure  he's  a  paragon  as  butlers  go." 

"That's  just  the  trouble,"  said  Clovis.  "It's 
when  servants  have  been  with  you  for  years  that  they 
become  a  really  serious  nuisance.  The  '  here  to-day 
and  gone  to-morrow '  sort  don't  matter — you've 
simply  got  to  replace  them  ;  it's  the  stayers  and  the 
paragons  that  are  the  real  worry." 

"  But  if  they  give  satisfaction " 

"  That  doesn't  prevent  them  from  giving  trouble. 
Now,  you've  mentioned  Sturridge — it  was  Sturridge 
I  was  particularly  thinking  of  when  I  made  the 
observation  about  servants  being  a  nuisance." 

"  The  excellent  Sturridge  a  nuisance  !  I  can't 
believe  it." 

"  I  know  he's  excellent,  and  we  just  couldn't  get 
along  without  him  ;  he's  the  one  reliable  element  in 
this  rather  haphazard  household.  But  his  very  orderli- 
ness has  had  an  effect  on  him.  Have  you  ever  con- 
sidered what  it  must  be  like  to  go  on  unceasingly  doing 
the  correct  thing  in  the  correct  manner  in  the  same 
surroundings  for  the  greater  part  of  a  lifetime  ?  To 
know  and  ordain  and  superintend  exactly  what  silver 

33 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

and  glass  and  table  linen  shall  be  used  and  set  out  on 
what  occasions,  to  have  cellar  and  pantry  and  plate- 
cupboard  under  a  minutely  devised  and  undeviating 
administration,  to  be  noiseless,  impalpable,  omnipresent, 
and,  as  far  as  your  own  department  is  concerned, 
omniscient  ?  " 

"  I  should  go  mad,"  said  Jane  with  conviction. 

*'  Exactly,"  said  Clovis  thoughtfully,  swallowing 
his  completed  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

"  But  Sturridge  hasn't  gone  mad,"  said  Jane  with 
a  flutter  of  inquiry  in  her  voice. 

"On  most  points  he's  thoroughly  sane  and  reliable," 
said  Clovis,  "  but  at  times  he  is  subject  to  the  most 
obstinate  delusions,  and  on  those  occasions  he  becomes 
not  merely  a  nuisance  but  a  decided  embarrassment." 

"  What  sort  of  delusions  ?  " 

*'  Unfortunately  they  usually  centre  round  one  of 
the  guests  of  the  house  party,  and  that  is  where  the 
awkwardness  comes  in.  For  instance,  he  took  it 
into  his  head  that  Matilda  Sheringham  was  the  Prophet 
Elijah,  and  as  all  that  he  remembered  about  Elijah's 
history  was  the  episode  of  the  ravens  in  the  wilderness 
he  absolutely  declined  to  interfere  with  what  he 
imagined  to  be  Matilda's  private  catering  arrangements, 
wouldn't  allow  any  tea  to  be  sent  up  to  her  in  the 
morning,  and  if  he  was  waiting  at  table  he  passed  her 
over  altogether  in  handing  round  the  dishes." 

"  How  very  unpleasant.  Whatever  did  you  do 
about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Matilda  got  fed,  after  a  fashion,  but  it  was 
judged  to  be  best  for  her  to  cut  her  visit  short.  It 
was  really  the  only  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Clovis 
with  some  emphasis. 

*'  I  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  said  Jane,  **  I  should 

34 


THE       HEN 

have  humoured  him  in  some  way.  I  certainly 
shouldn't  have  gone  away." 

Clovis  frowned. 

"  It  is  not  always  wise  to  humour  people  when  they 
get  these  ideas  into  their  heads.  There's  no  knowing 
to  what  lengths  they  may  go  if  you  encourage  them." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  might  be  dangerous, 
do  you  ?  "  asked  Jane  with  some  anxiety. 

"  One  can  never  be  certain,"  said  Clovis  j  "  now 
and  tiien  he  gets  some  idea  about  a  guest  which  might 
take  an  unfortunate  turn.  That  is  precisely  what  is 
worrying  me  at  the  present  moment." 

"  What,  has  he  taken  a  fancy  about  som.e  one  here 
now  ?  "  asked  Jane  excitedly  j  "  how  thrilling  I  Do 
tell  me  who  it  is." 

"  You,"  said  Clovis  briefly. 

*'  Me  ? " 

Clovis  nodded. 

"  Who  on  earth  does  he  think  I  am  ?  ** 

"  Queen  Anne,"  was  the  unexpected  answer. 

"  Queen  Anne  !  What  an  idea.  But,  anyhow, 
there's  nothing  dangerous  about  her  ;  she's  such  a 
colourless  personality." 

"  What  does  posterity  chiefly  say  about  Queen 
Anne  ?  "  asked  Clovis  rather  sternly. 

"  The  only  thing  that  I  can  remember  about  her," 
said  Jane,  "  is  the  saying  '  Queen  Anne's  dead.'  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Clovis,  staring  at  the  glass  that 
had  held  the  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox,  "  dead." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  takes  me  for  the  ghost  of  Queen 
Anne  ?  "  asked  Jane. 

"  Ghost  ?  Dear  no.  No  one  ever  heard  of  a 
ghost  that  came  down  to  breakfast  and  ate  kidneys  and 
toast  and  honey  with  a  healthy  appetite.  No,  it's  the 
35 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

fact  of  you  being  so  very  much  alive  and  flourishing 
that  perplexes  and  annoys  him.  All  his  life  he  has 
been  accustomed  to  look  on  Queen  Anne  as  the  personi- 
fication of  everything  that  is  dead  and  done  with,  '  as 
dead  as  Queen  Anne,'  you  know  ;  and  now  he  has  to 
fill  your  ghiss  at  lunch  and  dinner  and  listen  to  your 
accounts  of  the  gay  time  you  had  at  the  Dublin  Horse 
Show,  and  naturally  he  feels  that  something's  very 
wrong  with  you." 

"  But  he  wouldn't  be  downright  hostile  to  me  on 
that  account,  would  he  ?  "  Jane  asked  anxiously. 

"  I  didn't  get  really  alarmed  about  it  till  lunch 
to-day,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  I  caught  him  glowering  at 
you  with  a  very  sinister  look  and  muttering  :  '  Ought 
to  be  dead  long  ago,  she  ought,  and  some  one  should 
see  to  it.'     That's  why  I  mentioned  the  matter  to  you." 

"  This  is  awful,"  said  Jane  ;  "  your  mother  must 
be  told  about  it  at  once." 

"  My  mother  mustn't  hear  a  word  about  it,"  said 
Clovis  earnestly  ;  "  it  would  upset  her  dreadfully. 
She  relies  on  Sturridge  for  everything." 

"  But  he  might  kill  me  at  any  moment,"  protested 
Jane. 

"  Not  at  any  moment  j  he's  busy  with  the  silver 
all  the  afternoon." 

*'  You'll  have  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out  all  the  time 
and  be  on  your  guard  to  frustrate  any  murderous 
attack,"  said  Jane,  adding  in  a  tone  of  weak  obstinacy  : 
"  It's  a  dreadful  situation  to  be  in,  with  a  mad  butler 
dangling  over  you  like  the  sword  of  What's-his-name, 
but  I'm  certainly  not  going  to  cut  my  visit  short." 

Clovis  swore  horribly  under  his  breath  ;  the  miracle 
was  an  obvious  misfire. 

It  was  in  the  hall  the  next  morning  after  a  late 
36 


THE       HEN 

breakfast  that  Clovis  had  his  final  inspiration  as  he 
stood  engaged  in  coaxing  rust  spots  from  an  old  putter. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Martlet  ?  "  he  asked  the  butler, 
who  was  at  that  moment  crossing  the  hall. 

"  Writing  letters  in  the  morning-room,  sir,"  said 
Sturridge,  announcing  a  fact  of  which  his  questioner 
was  already  aware. 

"  She  wants  to  copy  the  inscription  on  that  old 
basket-hiked  sabre,"  said  Clovis,  pointing  to  a  venerable 
weapon  hanging  on  the  wall.  *'  I  wish  you'd  take  it 
to  her  ;  my  hands  are  all  over  oil.  Take  it  without 
the  sheath,  it  will  be  less  trouble." 

The  butler  drew  the  blade,  still  keen  and  bright 
in  its  well-cared  for  old  age,  and  carried  it  into  the 
morning-room.  There  was  a  door  near  the  writing- 
table  leading  to  a  back  stairway  ;  Jane  vanished 
through  it  with  such  lightning  rapidity  that  the  butler 
doubted  whether  she  had  seen  him  come  in.  Half  an 
hour  later  Clovis  was  driving  her  and  her  hastily- 
packed  luggage  to  the  station. 

"  Mother  will  be  awfully  vexed  when  she  comes 
back  from  her  ride  and  finds  you  have  gone,"  he 
observed  to  the  departing  guest,  "  but  I'll  make  up 
some  story  about  an  urgent  wire  having  called  you 
away.  It  wouldn't  do  to  alarm  her  unnecessarily 
about  Sturridge." 

Jane  sniffed  slightly  at  Clovis'  ideas  of  unnecessary 
alarm,  and  was  almost  rude  to  the  young  man  who  came 
round  with  thoughtful  inquiries  as  to  luncheon-baskets. 

The  miracle  lost  some  of  its  usefulness  from  the 
fact  that  Dora  wrote  the  same  day  postponing  the 
date  of  her  visit,  but,  at  any  rate,  Clovis  holds  the 
record  as  the  only  human  being  who  ever  hustled 
Jane  Martlet  out  of  the  time-table  of  her  migrations. 
37 


THE      OPEN       WINDOW 

"  TV   /fY  aunt  will  be  down  presently,  Mr.  Nuttel," 

XVX  said  a  very  self-possessed  young  lady  of 
fifteen  ;  "  in  the  meantime  you  must  try  and  put  up 
with  me." 

Framton  Nuttel  endeavoured  to  say  the  correct 
something  which  should  duly  flatter  the  niece  of  the 
moment  without  unduly  discounting  the  aunt  that 
was  to  come.  Privately  he  doubted  more  than  ever 
whether  these  formal  visits  on  a  succession  of  total 
strangers  would  do  much  towards  helping  the  nerve 
cure  which  he  was  supposed  to  be  undergoing. 

"  I  know  how  it  will  be,"  his  sister  had  said  when 
he  was  preparing  to  migrate  to  this  rural  retreat ; 
"  you  will  bury  yourself  down  there  and  not  speak 
to  a  living  soul,  and  your  nerves  will  be  worse  than 
ever  from  moping.  I  shall  just  give  you  letters  of 
introduction  to  all  the  people  I  know  there.  Some 
of  them,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  were  quite 
nice." 

Framton  wondered  whether  Mrs.  Sappleton,  the 
lady  to  whom  he  was  presenting  one  of  the  letters 
of  introduction,  came  into  the  nice  division. 

"  Do  you  know  many  of  the  people  round  here  ?  " 
asked  the  niece,  when  she  judged  that  they  had  had 
sufficient  silent  communion. 

"  Hardly  a  soul,"  said  Framton.      "  My  sister  was 
was  staying  here,  at   the   rectory,  you   know,  some 
38 


THE      OPEN       WINDOW 

four  years  ago,  and  she  gave  me  letters  of  introductioi* 
to  some  of  the  people  here." 

He  made  the  last  statement  in  a  tone  of  distinct 
regret. 

"  Then  you  know  practically  nothing  about  my 
aunt  ?  "  pursued  the  self-possessed  young  lady. 

"  Only  her  name  and  address,"  admitted  the  caller. 
He  was  wondering  whether  Mrs.  Sappleton  was  in 
the  married  or  widowed  state.  An  undefinable  some- 
thing about  the  room  seemed  to  suggest  masculine 
habitation. 

"  Her  great  tragedy  happened  just  three  years 
ago,"  said  the  child  i  "  that  would  be  since  your 
sister's  time." 

"  Her  tragedy  ?  "  asked  Framton  ;  somehow  in  this 
restful  country  spot  tragedies  seemed  out  of  place. 

"  You  may  wonder  why  we  keep  that  window 
wide  open  on  an  October  afternoon,"  said  the  niece, 
indicating  a  large  French  window  that  opened  on  to 
a  lawn. 

"  It  is  quite  warm  for  the  time  of  the  year,"  said 
Framton  ;  "  but  has  that  window  got  anything  to  do 
with  the  tragedy  ?  " 

"  Out  through  that  window,  three  years  ago  to 
a  day,  her  husband  and  her  two  young  brothers  went 
off  for  their  day's  shooting.  They  never  came  back. 
In  crossing  the  moor  to  their  favourite  snipe-shooting 
ground  they  were  all  three  engulfed  in  a  treacherous 
piece  of  bog.  It  had  been  that  dreadful  wet  summer, 
you  know,  and  places  that  were  safe  in  other  years 
gave  way  suddenly  without  warning.  Their  bodies 
were  never  recovered.  That  was  the  dreadful  part 
of  it."  Here  the  child's  voice  lost  its  self-possessed 
note   and    became   falteringly   human.      "  Poor    aunt 

39 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

alwa}^  thinks  that  they  will  come  back  some  day,  they 
and  the  little  brown  spaniel  that  was  lost  with  them, 
and  walk  in  at  that  window  just  as  they  used  to  do. 
That  is  why  the  window  is  kept  open  every  evening 
till  it  is  quite  dusk.  Poor  dear  aunt,  she  has  often 
told  me  how  they  went  out,  her  husband  with  his  white 
waterproof  coat  over  his  arm,  and  Ronnie,  her  youngest 
brother,  singing  '  Bertie,  why  do  you  bound  f '  as  he 
always  did  to  tease  her,  because  she  said  it  got  on  her 
nerves.  Do  you  know,  sometimes  on  still,  quiet 
evenings  like  this,  I  almost  get  a  creepy  feeling  that 
they  will  all  walk  in  through  that  window " 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  shudder.  It  was  a  relief 
to  Framton  when  the  aunt  bustled  into  the  room  with 
a  whirl  of  apologies  for  being  late  in  making  her 
appearance. 

"  I  hope  Vera  has  been  amusing  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  She  has  been  very  interesting,"  said  Framton. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mind  the  open  windpw,"  said 
Mrs.  Sappleton  briskly  ;  "  my  husband  and  brothers 
will  be  home  directly  from  shooting,  and  th<°y  always 
come  in  this  way.  They've  been  out  for  snipe  in 
the  marshes  to-day,  so  they'll  make  a  fine  mess 
over  my  poor  carpets.  So  like  you  men- folk,  isn't 
it?" 

She  rattled  on  cheerfully  about  the  shooting  and 
the  scarcity  of  birds,  and  the  prospects  for  duck  in 
the  winter.  To  Framton  it  was  all  purely  horrible. 
He  made  a  desperate  but  only  partially  successful  effort 
to  turn  the  talk  on  to  a  less  ghastly  topic  j  he  was 
conscious  that  his  hostess  was  giving  him  only  a  frag- 
ment of  her  attention,  and  her  eyes  were  constantly 
straying  past  him  to  the  open  window  and  the  lawn 
beyond.      It  was  certainly  an  unfortunate  coincidence 

40 


THE        OPEN       WINDOW 

that  he  should  have  paid  his  visit  on  this  tragic 
anniversary. 

"  The  doctors  agree  in  ordering  me  complete  rest, 
an  absence  of  mental  excitement,  and  avoidance  of 
anything  in  the  nature  of  violent  physical  exercise,'* 
announced  Framton,  who  laboured  under  the  tolerably 
wide-spread  delusion  that  total  strangers  and  chance 
acquaintances  are  hungry  for  the  least  detail  of  one's 
ailments  and  infirmities,  their  cause  and  cure.  "  On 
the  matter  of  diet  they  are  not  so  much  in  agreement," 
he  continued. 

"  No  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sappleton,  in  a  voice  which  only 
replaced  a  yawn  at  the  last  moment.  Then  she 
suddenly  brightened  into  alert  attention — but  not  to 
what  Framton  was  saying. 

"  Here  they  are  at  last  !  '*  she  cried.  "  Just  in 
time  for  tea,  and  don't  they  look  as  if  they  were  muddy 
up  to  the  eyes  !  " 

Framton  shivered  slightly  and  turned  towards  the 
niece  with  a  look  intended  to  convey  sympathetic 
comprehension.  The  child  was  staring  out  through 
the  open  window  with  dazed  horror  in  her  eyes.  In 
a  chill  shock  of  nameless  fear  Framton  swung  round 
in  his  seat  and  looked  in  the  same  direction. 

In  the  deepening  twilight  three  figures  were  walk- 
ing across  the  lawn  towards  the  window  ;  they  all 
carried  guns  under  their  arms,  and  one  of  them  was 
additionally  burdened  with  a  white  coat  hung  over 
his  shoulders.  A  tired  brown  spaniel  kept  dose  at 
their  heels.  Noiselessly  they  neared  the  house,  and 
then  a  hoarse  young  voice  chanted  out  of  the  dusk  : 
"  I  said,  Bertie,  why  do  you  bound  ?  " 

Framton  grabbed  wildly  at  his  stick  and  hat  j 
the  hall-door,  the  gravel-drive,  and  the  front  gate 
41 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

were  dimly-noted  stages  in  his  headlong  retreat.  A 
cyclist  coming  along  the  road  had  to  run  into  the  hedge 
to  avoid  imminent  collision. 

"  Here  we  are,  my  dear,"  said  the  bearer  of  the 
white  mackintosh,  coming  in  through  the  window  ; 
*'  fairly  muddy,  but  most  of  it's  dry.  Who  was  that 
who  bolted  out  as  we  came  up  ?  " 

"  A  most  extraordinary  man,  a  Mr.  Nuttel,"  said 
Mrs.  Sappleton  ;  "  could  only  talk  about  his  illnesses, 
and  dashed  off  without  a  word  of  good-bye  or  apology 
when  you  arrived.  One  would  think  he  had  seen  a 
ghost." 

"  I  expect  it  was  the  spaniel,"  said  the  niece  calmly  ; 
"  he  told  me  he  had  a  horror  of  dogs.  He  was  once 
hunted  into  a  cemetery  somewhere  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges  by  a  pack  of  pariah  dogs,  and  had  to  spend 
the  night  in  a  newly  dug  grave  with  the  creatures 
snarling  and  grinning  and  foaming  just  above  him. 
Enough  to  make  anyone  lose  their  nerve." 

Romance  at  short  notice  was  her  speciality. 


4a 


THE      TREASURE-SHIP 

THE  great  galleon  lay  in  semi-retirement  under 
the  sand  and  weed  and  water  of  the  northern 
bay  where  the  fortune  of  war  and  weather  had  long 
ago  ensconced  it.  Three  and  a  quarter  centuries  had 
passed  since  the  day  when  it  had  taken  the  high  seas 
as  an  important  unit  of  a  fighting  squadron — precisely 
which  squadron  the  learned  were  not  agreed.  The 
galleon  had  brought  nothing  into  the  world,  but  it 
had,  according  to  tradition  and  report,  taken  much 
out  of  it.  But  how  much  ?  There  again  the  learned 
were  in  disagreement.  Some  were  as  generous  in  their 
estimate  as  an  income-tax  assessor,  others  applied  a 
species  of  higher  criticism  to  the  submerged  treasure 
chests,  and  debased  their  contents  to  the  currency  of 
goblin  gold.  Of  the  former  school  was  Lulu,  Duchess 
of  Dulverton. 

The  Duchess  was  not  only  a  believer  in  the  exist- 
ence of  a  sunken  treasure  of  alluring  proportions  j 
she  also  believed  that  she  knew  of  a  method  by  which 
the  said  treasure  might  be  precisely  located  and  cheaply 
disembedded.  ^  An  aunt  on  her  mother's  side  of  the 
family  had  been  Maid  of  Honour  at  the  Court  of 
Monaco,  and  had  taken  a  respectful  interest  in  the 
deep-sea  researches  in  which  the  Throne  of  that 
country,  impatient  perhaps  of  its  terrestrial  restrictions, 
was  wont  to  immerse  itself.  It  was  through  the 
instrumentality  of  this  relative  that  the  Duchess  learned 
43 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

of  an  invention,  perfected  and  very  nearly  patented  by 
a  Monegaskan  savant,  by  means  of  which  the  home-life 
of  the  Mediterranean  sardine  might  be  studied  at  a 
depth  of  many  fathoms  in  a  cold  white  light  of  more 
than  ball-room  brilliancy.  Implicated  in  this  inven- 
tion (and,  in  the  Duchess's  eyes,  the  most  attractive 
part  of  it)  was  an  electric  suction  dredge,  specially  de- 
signed for  dragging  to  the  surface  such  objects  of  interest 
and  value  as  might  be  found  in  the  more  accessible 
levels  of  the  ocean-bed.  The  rights  of  the  invention 
were  to  be  acquired  for  a  matter  of  eighteen  hundred 
francs,  and  the  apparatus  for  a  few  thousand  more. 
The  Duchess  of  Dulverton  was  rich,  as  the  world 
counted  wealth  ;  she  nursed  the  hope  of  being  one 
day  rich  at  her  own  computation.  Companies  had 
been  formed  and  efforts  had  been  made  again  and  again 
during  the  course  of  three  centuries  to  probe  for  the 
alleged  treasures  of  the  interesting  galleon  ;  with  the 
aid  of  this  invention  she  considered  that  she  might  go 
to  work  on  the  wreck  privately  and  independently. 
After  all,  one  of  her  ancestors  on  her  mother's  side 
was  descended  from  Medina  Sidonia,  so  she  was  of 
opinion  that  she  had  as  much  right  to  the  treasure  as 
anyone.  She  acquired  the  invention  and  bought  the 
apparatus. 

Among  other  family  ties  and  encumbrances.  Lulu 
possessed  a  nephew,  Vasco  Honiton,  a  young  gentleman 
who  was  blessed  with  a  small  income  and  a  large  circle 
of  relatives,  and  lived  impartially  and  precariously  on 
both.  The  name  Vasco  had  been  given  him  possibly 
in  the  hope  that  he  might  live  up  to  its  adventurous 
tradition,  but  he  limited  himself  strictly  to  the  home 
Industry  of  adventurer,  preferring  to  exploit  the  assured 
rather  than  to  explore  the  unknown.  Lulu's  inter- 
44 


THE      T  R  E  A  S  U  R  E  -  S  H  I  P 

course  with  him  had  been  restricted  of  recent  years  to 
the  negative  processes  of  being  out  of  town  when  he 
called  on  her,  and  short  of  money  when  he  wrote  to 
her.  Now,  however,  she  bethought  herself  of  his 
eminent  suitability  for  the  direction  of  a  treasure- 
seeking  experiment ;  if  anyone  could  extract  gold  from 
an  unpromising  situation  it  would  certainly  be  Vasco — 
of  course,  under  the  necessary  safeguards  in  the  way  of 
supervision.  Where  money  was  in  question  Vasco's 
conscience  was  liable  to  fits  of  obstinate  silence. 

Somewhere  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland  the  Dul- 
verton  property  included  a  few  acres  of  shingle,  rock, 
and  heather,  too  barren  to  support  even  an  agrarian 
outrage,  but  embracing  a  small  and  fairly  deep  bay 
where  the  lobster  yield  was  good  in  most  seasons. 
There  was  a  bleak  little  house  on  the  property,  and  for 
those  who  liked  lobsters  and  solitude,  and  were  able  to 
accept  an  Irish  cook's  ideas  as  to  what  might  be  per- 
petrated in  the  name  of  mayonnaise,  Innisgluther  was 
a  tolerable  exile  during  the  summer  months.  Lulu 
seldom  went  there  herself,  but  she  lent  the  house 
lavishly  to  friends  and  relations.  She  put  it  now  at 
Vasco's  disposal. 

"  It  will  be  the  very  place  to  practise  and  experi- 
ment with  the  salvage  apparatus,"  she  said ;  "  the 
bay  is  quite  deep  in  places,  and  you  will  be  able  to  test 
everything  thoroughly  before  starting  on  the  treasure 
hunt." 

In  less  than  three  weeks  Vasco  turned  up  in  town 
to  report  progress. 

"  The  apparatus  works  beautifully,"  he  informed 
his  aunt  ;    "  the  deeper  one  got  the  clearer  everything 
grew.     We  found  something  in  the  way  of  a  sunken 
wreck  to  operate  on,  too  !  " 
45 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  A  wreck  in  Innisgluther  Bay  !  "  exclaimed  Lulu. 

"  A  submerged  motor-boat,  the  Sub-Rosa"  said 
Vasco. 

"  No  !  really  ?  "  said  Lulu  ;  "  poor  Billy  Yuttley's 
boat.  I  remember  it  went  down  somewhere  off  that 
coast  some  three  years  ago.  His  body  was  washed 
ashore  at  the  Point.  People  said  at  the  time  that  the 
boat  was  capsized  intentionally — a  case  of  suicide,  you 
know.  People  always  say  that  sort  of  thing  when 
anything  tragic  happens." 

"  In  this  case  they  were  right,"  said  Vasco. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  the  Duchess  hur- 
riedly.     "  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Vasco  simply. 

"  Know  ?  How  can  you  know  ?  How  can  any- 
one know  ?     The  thing  happened  three  years  ago." 

'*  In  a  locker  of  the  Sub-Rosa  I  found  a  water- 
tight strong-box.  It  contained  papers."  Vasco  paused 
with  dramatic  effect  and  searched  for  a  moment  in 
the  inner  breast-pocket  of  his  coat.  He  drew  out  a 
folded  slip  of  paper.  The  Duchess  snatched  at  it  in 
almost  indecent  haste  and  moved  appreciably  nearer 
the  fireplace. 

"  Was  this  in  the  Sub-Rosa's  strong-box  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Vasco  carelessly,  "  that  is  a  list  of 
the  well-known  people  who  would  be  involved  in  a 
very  disagreeable  scandal  if  the  Sub-Rosa's  papers  were 
made  public.  I've  put  you  at  the  head  of  it,  otherwise 
it  follows  alphabetical  order." 

The  Duchess  gazed  helplessly  at  the  string  of  names, 
which  seemed  for  the  moment  to  include  nearly  every 
one  she  knew.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  her  own  name 
at  the  head  of  the  list  exercised  an  almost  paralysing 
effect  on  her  thinking  faculties. 

46 


THE      TREASURE-SHIP 

"  Of  course  you  have  destroyed  the  papers  ?  "  she 
asked,  when  she  had  somewhat  recovered  herself. 
She  was  conscious  that  she  niade  the  remark  with  an 
entire  lack  of  conviction. 

Vasco  shook  his  head. 

"  But  you  should  have,"  said  Lulu  angrily  ;  "  if, 
as  you  say,  they  are  highly  compromising " 

"  Oh,  they  are,  I  assure  you  of  that,"  interposed 
the  young  man. 

"  Then  you  should  put  them  out  of  harm's  way 
at  once.  Supposing  anything  should  leak  out,  think 
of  all  these  poor,  unfortunate  people  who  would  be 
involved  in  the  disclosures,"  and  Lulu  tapped  the  list 
with  an  agitated  gesture. 

"  Unfortunate,  perhaps,  but  not  poor,"  corrected 
Vasco  ;  "  if  you  read  the  list  carefully  you'll  notice 
that  I  haven't  troubled  to  include  anyone  whose 
financial  standing  isn't  above  question." 

Lulu  glared  at  her  nephew  for  some  moments  in 
silence.  Then  she  asked  hoarsely  :  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing — for  the  remainder  of  my  life,"  he 
answered  meaningly.  "  A  little  hunting,  perhaps," 
he  continued,  "  and  I  shall  have  a  villa  at  Florence. 
The  Villa  Sub-Rosa  would  sound  rather  quaint  and 
picturesque,  don't  you  think,  and  quite  a  lot  of  people 
would  be  able  to  attach  a  meaning  to  the  name.  And 
I  suppose  I  must  have  a  hobby  ;  I  shall  probably 
collect  Raeburns." 

Lulu's  relative,  who  lived  at  the  Court  of  Monaco, 
got  quite  a  snappish  answer  when  she  wrote  recom- 
mending some  further  invention  in  the  realm  of  marine 
research. 


47 


THE      COBWEB 

THE  farmhouse  kitchen  probably  stood  where  It 
did  as  a  matter  of  accident  or  haphazard  choice  ; 
yet  its  situation  might  have  been  planned  by  a  master- 
strategist  in  farmhouse  architecture.  Dairy  and 
poultry-yard,  and  herb  garden,  and  all  the  busy  places 
of  the  farm  seemed  to  lead  by  easy  access  into  its  wide 
flagged  haven,  where  there  was  room  for  everything 
and  where  muddy  boots  left  traces  that  were  easily 
swept  away.  And  yet,  for  all  that  it  stood  so  well  in 
the  centre  of  human  bustle,  its  long,  latticed  window, 
with  the  wide  window-seat,  built  into  an  embrasure 
beyond  the  huge  fireplace,  looked  out  on  a  wild  spread- 
ing view  of  hill  and  heather  and  wooded  combe.  The 
window  nook  made  almost  a  little  room  it  itself,  quite 
the  pleasantest  room  in  the  farm  as  far  as  situation  and 
capabilities  went.  Young  Mrs.  Ladbruk,  whose 
husband  had  just  come  into  the  farm  by  way  of  inherit- 
ance, cast  covetous  eyes  on  this  snug  corner,  and  her 
fingers  itched  to  make  it  bright  and  cosy  with  chintz 
curtains  and  bowls  of  flowers,  and  a  shelf  or  two  of  old 
china.  The  musty  farm  parlour,  looking  out  to  a  prim, 
cheerless  garden  imprisoned  within  high,  blank  walls, 
was  not  a  room  that  lent  itself  readily  either  to  comfort 
or  decoration. 

"  When  we  are  more  settled  I  shall  work  wonders 
in  the  way  of  making  the  kitchen  habitable,"  said  the 
young  woman  to  her  occasional  visitors.     There  was 
48 


THE       COBWEB 

an  unspoken  wish  in  those  words,  a  wish  which  was 
unconfessed  as  well  as  unspoken.  Emma  Ladbruk 
was  the  mistress  of  the  farm  ;  jointly  with  her  husband 
she  might  have  her  say,  and  to  a  certain  extent  her 
way,  in  ordering  its  affairs.  But  she  was  not  mistress 
of  the  kitchen. 

On  one  of  the  shelves  of  an  old  dresser,  in  company 
with  chipped  sauce-boats,  pewter  jugs,  cheese-graters, 
and  paid  bills,  rested  a  worn  and  ragged  Bible,  on  whose 
front  page  was  the  record,  in  faded  ink,  of  a  baptism 
dated  ninety-four  years  ago.  "  Martha  Crale  "  was 
the  name  written  on  that  yellow  page.  The  yellow, 
wrinkled  old  dame  who  hobbled  and  muttered  about 
the  kitchen,  looking  like  a  dead  autumn  leaf  which  the 
winter  winds  still  pushed  hither  and  thither,  had  once 
been  Martha  Crale  ;  for  seventy  odd  years  she  had 
been  Martha  Mountjoy.  For  longer  than  anyone 
could  remember  she  had  pattered  to  and  fro  between 
oven  and  wash-house  and  dairy,  and  out  to  chicken- 
run  and  garden,  grumbling  and  muttering  and  scolding, 
but  working  unceasingly.  Emma  Ladbruk,  of  whose 
coming  she  took  as  little  notice  as  she  would  of  a  hae 
wandering  in  at  a  window  on  a  summer's  day,  used 
at  first  to  watch  her  with  a  kind  of  frightened  curiosity. 
She  was  so  old  and  so  much  a  part  of  the  place,  it  was 
difficult  to  think  of  her  exactly  as  a  living  thing.  Old 
Shep,  the  white-nozzled,  stiff-limbed  collie,  waiting 
for  his  time  to  die,  seemed  almost  more  human  than 
the  withered,  dried-up  old  woman.  He  had  been  a 
riotous,  roystering  puppy,  mad  with  the  joy  of  life, 
when  she  was  already  a  tottering,  hobbling  dame  ; 
now  he  was  just  a  blind,  breathing  carcase,  nothing 
more,  and  she  still  worked  with  frail  energy,  still  swept 
and  baked  and  washed,  fetched  and  carried.     If  there 

49 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

were  something  in  these  wise  old  dogs  that  did  not 
perish  utterly  with  death,  Emma  used  to  think  to  herself, 
what  generations  of  ghost-dogs  there  must  be  out  on 
those  hills,  that  Martha  had  reared  and  fed  and  tended 
and  spoken  a  last  good-bye  word  to  in  that  old  kitchen. 
And  what  memories  she  must  have  of  human  genera- 
tions that  had  passed  away  in  her  time.      It  was  difEcult 
for  anyone,  let  alone  a  stranger  like  Emma,  to  get 
her  to  talk  of  the  days  that  had  been  ;    her  shrill, 
quavering  speech   was   of  doors   that   had   been   left 
unfastened,  pails  that  had  got  mislaid,  calves  whose 
feeding-time  was  overdue,  and  the  various  little  faults 
and  lapses  that  chequer  a  farmhouse  routine.     Now 
and  again,  when  election  time  came  round,  she  would 
unstore    her    recollections    of  the   old    names    round 
which  the  fight  had  waged  in  the  days  gone  by.     There 
had  been  a  Palmerston,  that  had  been  a  name  down 
Tiverton    way  ;    Tiverton  was  not  a  far  journey  as 
the  crow  flies,  but  to  Martha  it  was  almost  a  foreign 
country.     Later    there    had    been    Northcotes    and 
Aclands,  and  many  other  newer  names  that  she  had 
forgotten  ;  the  names  changed,  but  it  was  always  Libruls 
and  Toories,  Yellows  and  Blues.     And  they  always 
quarrelled  and  shouted  as  to  who  was  right  and  who 
was   wrong.     The  one   they  quarrelled   about   most 
was  a  fine  old  gentleman  with  an  angry  face — she  had 
seen  his  picture  on  the  walls.     She  had  seen  it  on  the 
floor  too,  with  a  rotten  apple  squashed  over  it,  for  the 
farm    had    changed    its   politics    from   time   to   time. 
Martha  had  never  been  on  one  side  or  the  other  ; 
none  of  "  they  "  had  ever  done  the  farm  a  stroke  of 
good.     Such  was  her  sweeping  verdict,  given  with  all 
a  peasant's  distrust  of  the  outside  world. 

When  the  half-frightened  curiosity  had  somewhat 

50 


THE       COBWEB 

faded  away,  Emma  Ladbruk  was  uncomfortably  con- 
scious of  another  feeling  towards  the  old  woman. 
She  was  a  quaint  old  tradition,  lingering  about  the 
place,  she  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  farm  itself,  she 
was  something  at  once  pathetic  and  picturesque — but 
she  v/as  dreadfully  in  the  way.  Emma  had  come  to 
the  farm  full  of  plans  for  little  reforms  and  improve- 
ments, in  part  the  result  of  training  in  the  newest 
ways  and  methods,  in  part  the  outcome  of  her  own 
ideas  and  fancies.  Reforms  in  the  kitchen  region,  if 
those  deaf  old  ears  could  have  been  induced  to  give 
them  even  a  hearing,  would  have  met  with  short 
shrift  and  scornful  rejection,  and  the  kitchen  region 
spread  over  the  zone  of  dairy  and  market  business  and 
half  the  work  of  the  household.  Emma,  with  the 
latest  science  of  dead-poultry  dressing  at  her  finger- 
tips, sat  by,  an  unheeded  watcher,  while  old  Martha 
trussed  the  chickens  for  the  market-stall  as  she  had 
trussed  them  for  nearly  four-score  years — all  leg  and 
no  breast.  And  the  hundred  hints  anent  effective 
cleaning  and  labour-lightening  and  the  things  that 
make  for  wholesomeness  which  the  young  woman 
was  ready  to  impart  or  to  put  into  action  dropped 
away  into  nothingness  before  that  wan,  muttering, 
unheeding  presence.  Above  all,  the  coveted  window 
corner,  that  was  to  be  a  dainty,  cheerful  oasis  in  the 
gaunt  old  kitchen,  stood  now  choked  and  lumbered 
with  a  litter  of  odds  and  ends  that  Emma,  for  all  her 
nominal  authority,  would  not  have  dared  or  cared  to 
displace  ;  over  them  seemed  to  be  spun  the  protection 
of  something  that  was  like  a  human  cobweb. 
Decidedly  Martha  was  in  the  way.  It  would  have 
been  an  unworthy  meanness  to  have  wished  to  see 
the  span  of  that  brave  old  life  shortened  by  a  few 
51 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

paltry  months,  but  as  the  days  sped  by  Emma  was 
conscious  that  the  wish  was  there,  disowned  though  it 
might  be,  lurking  at  the  back  of  her  mind. 

She  felt  the  meanness  of  the  wish  come  over  her 
with  a  qualm  of  self-reproach  one  day  when  she  came 
into  the  kitchen  and  found  an  unaccustomed  state  of 
things  in  that  usually  busy  quarter.  Old  Martha  was 
not  working.  A  basket  of  corn  was  on  the  floor  by 
her  side,  and  out  in  the  yard  the  poultry  were  beginning 
to  clamour  a  protest  of  overdue  feeding-time.  But 
Martha  sat  huddled  in  a  shrunken  bunch  on  the 
window  seat,  looking  out  with  her  dim  old  eyes  as 
though  she  saw  something  stranger  than  the  autumn 
landscape. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Martha  ?  "  asked  the 
young  woman. 

"  'Tis  death,  'tis  death  a-coming,"  answered  the 
quavering  voice  ;  "  I  knew  'twere  coming.  I  knew 
it.  'Tweren't  for  nothing  that  old  Shep's  been 
howling  all  morning.  An'  last  night  I  heard  the 
screech-owl  give  the  death-cry,  and  there  were  some- 
thing white  as  run  across  the  yard  yesterday  ;  'tweren't 
a  cat  nor  a  stoat,  'twere  something.  The  fowls  knew 
'twere  something  ;  they  all  drew  off  to  one  side. 
Ay,  there's  been  warnings.  I  knew  it  were 
a-coming." 

The  young  woman's  eyes  clouded  with  pity.  The 
old  thing  sitting  there  so  white  and  shrunken  had 
once  been  a  merry,  noisy  child,  playing  about  in  lanes 
and  hay-lofts  and  farmhouse  garrets  ;  that  had  been 
eighty  odd  years  ago,  and  now  she  was  just  a  frail 
old  body  cowering  under  the  approaching  chill  of  the 
death  that  was  coming  at  last  to  take  her.  It  was  not 
probable  that  much  could  be  done  for  her,  but  Emma 

52 


TiHE      COBWEB 

hastened  away  to  get  assistance  and  counsel.  Her 
husband,  she  knew,  was  down  at  a  tree-felling  some 
little  distance  off,  but  she  might  find  some  other  intelli- 
gent soul  who  knew  the  old  woman  better  than  she 
did.  The  farm,  she  soon  found  out,  had  that  faculty 
common  to  farmyards  of  swallowing  up  and  losing 
its  human  population.  The  poultry  followed  her  in 
interested  fashion,  and  swine  grunted  interrogations  at 
her  from  behind  the  bars  of  their  styes,  but  barnyard 
and  rickyard,  orchard  and  stables  and  dairy,  gave  no 
reward  to  her  search.  Then,  as  she  retraced  her 
steps  towards  the  kitchen,  she  came  suddenly  on  her 
cousin,  young  Mr.  Jim,  as  every  one  called  him,  who 
divided  his  time  between  amateur  horse-dealing,  rabbit- 
shooting,  and  flirting  with  the  farm  maids. 

"  I'm  afraid  old  Martha  is  dying,"  said  Emma. 
Jim  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  whom  one  had  to 
break  news  gently. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  said  ;  "  Martha  means  to  live  to  a 
hundred.     She  told  me  so,  and  she'll  do  it." 

"  She  may  be  actually  dying  at  this  moment,  or  it 
may  just  be  the  beginning  of  the  break-up,"  persisted 
Emma,  with  a  feeling  of  contempt  for  the  slowness 
and  dullness  of  the  young  man. 

A  grin  spread  over  his  good-natured  features. 

"  It  don't  look  like  it,"  he  said,  nodding  towards 
the  yard.  Emma  turned  to  catch  the  meaning  of  his 
remark.  Old  Martlia  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  mob 
of  poultry  scattering  handfuls  of  grain  around  her. 
The  turkey-cock,  with  the  bronzed  sheen  of  his 
feathers  and  the  purple-red  of  his  wattles,  the 
gamecock  with  the  glowing  metallic  lustre  of  his 
Eastern  plumage,  the  hens,  with  their  ochres  and 
buffs  and  umbers  and  their  scarlet  combs,  and  the 

53 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

drakes,  with  their  bottle-green  heads,  made  a  medley 
of  rich  colour,  in  the  centre  of  which  the  old  woman 
looked  like  a  withered  stalk  standing  amid  the  riotous 
growth  of  gaily-hued  flowers.  But  she  threw  the 
grain  deftly  amid  the  wilderness  of  beaks,  and  her 
quavering  voice  carried  as  far  as  the  two  people  who 
were  watching  her.  She  was  still  harping  on  the 
theme  of  death  coming  to  the  farm. 

"  I  knew  'twere  a-coming.  There's  been  signs  an' 
warnings." 

"  Who's  dead,  then,  old  Mother  ?  "  called  out  the 
young  man. 

"  'Tis  young  Mister  Ladbruk,"  she  shrilled  back  ; 
*'  they've  just  a-carried  his  body  in.  Run  out  of  the 
way  of  a  tree  that  was  coming  down  an'  ran  hisself 
on  to  an  iron  post.  Dead  when  they  picked  un  up. 
Aye,  I  knew  'twere  coming." 

And  she  turned  to  fling  a  handful  of  barley  at  a 
belated  group  of  guinea-fowl  that  came  racing  toward 
her. 

>  •  .  •  • 

The  farm  was  a  family  property,  and  passed  to  the 
rabbit-shooting  cousin  as  the  next-of-kin.  Emma 
Ladbruk  drifted  out  of  its  history  as  a  bee  that  had 
wandered  in  at  an  open  window  might  flit  its  way 
out  again.  On  a  cold  grey  morning  she  stood  waiting 
with  her  boxes  already  stowed  in  the  farm  cart,  till 
the  last  of  the  market  produce  should  be  ready,  for  the 
train  she  was  to  catch  was  of  less  importance  than  the 
chickens  and  butter  and  eggs  that  were  to  be  offered 
for  sale.  From  where  she  stood  she  could  see  an  angle 
of  the  long  latticed  window  that  was  to  have  been  cosy 
with  curtains  and  gay  with  bowls  of  flowers.  Into 
her  mind  came  the  thought  that  for  months,  perhaps 

54 


THE      COBWEB 

for  years,  long  after  she  had  been  utterly  forgotten,  a 
white,  unheeding  face  would  be  seen  peering  out 
through  those  latticed  panes,  and  a  weak  muttering 
voice  would  be  heard  quavering  up  and  down  those 
flagged  passages.  She  made  her  way  to  a  narrow  barred 
casement  that  opened  into  the  farm  larder.  Old 
Martha  was  standing  at  a  table  trussing  a  pair  of 
chickens  for  the  market  stall  as  she  had  trussed  them 
for  nearly  fourscore  years. 


55 


THE      LULL 

**  T*VE  asked  Larimer  Springfield  to  spend  Sunday 

X  with  us  and  stop  the  night,"  announced  Mrs. 
Durmot  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"  I  thought  he  was  in  the  throes  of  an  election," 
remarked  her  husband. 

"  Exactly  ;  the  poll  is  on  Wednesday,  and  the 
poor  man  will  have  worked  himself  to  a  shadow  by 
that  time.  Imagine  what  electioneering  must  be  like 
in  this  awful  soaking  rain,  going  along  slushy  country 
roads  and  speaking  to  damp  audiences  in  draughty 
schoolrooms,  day  after  day  for  a  fortnight.  He'll 
have  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  some  place  of  worship 
on  Sunday  morning,  and  he  can  come  to  us  imme- 
diately afterwards  and  have  a  thorough  respite  from 
everything  connected  with  politics.  I  won't  let  him 
even  think  of  them.  I've  had  the  picture  of  Crom- 
well dissolving  the  Long  Parliament  taken  down  from 
the  staircase,  and  even  the  potrait  of  Lord  Rosebery's 
'  Ladas '  removed  from  the  smoking-room.  And 
Vera,"  added  Mrs.  Durmot,  turning  to  her  sixteen- 
year-old  niece,  "  be  careful  what  colour  ribbon  you 
wear  in  your  hair  ;  not  blue  or  yellow  on  any  account  ; 
those  are  the  rival  party  colours,  and  emerald  green  or 
orange  would  be  almost  as  bad,  with  this  Home  Rule 
business  to  the  fore." 

"  On  state  occasions  I  always  wear  a  black  ribbon 
In  my  hair,"  said  Vera  with  crushing  dignity. 
5^ 


THE      LULL 

Latimer  Springfield  was  a  rather  cheerless,  oldish 
young  man,  who  went  into  politics  somewhat  in  the 
spirit  in  which  other  people  might  go  into  half  mourn- 
ing. Without  being  an  enthusiast,  however,  he  was 
a  fairly  strenuous  plodder,  and  Mrs.  Durmot  had  been 
reasonably  near  the  mark  in  asserting  that  he  was 
working  at  high  pressure  over  this  election.  The 
restful  lull  which  his  hostess  enforced  on  him  was 
decidedly  welcome,  and  yet  the  nervous  excitement  of 
the  contest  had  too  great  a  hold  on  him  to  be  totally 
banished. 

"  I  know  he's  going  to  sit  up  half  the  night  working 
up  points  for  his  final  speeches,"  said  Mrs.  Durmot 
regretfully  ;  "  however,  we've  kept  politics  at  arm's 
length  all  the  afternoon  and  evening.  More  than  that 
we  cannot  do." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Vera,  but  she  said 
it  to  herself. 

Latimer  had  scarcely  shut  his  bedroom  door  before 
he  was  immersed  in  a  sheaf  of  notes  and  pamphlets, 
while  a  fountain-pen  and  pocket-book  were  brought 
into  play  for  the  due  marshalling  of  useful  facts  and 
discreet  fictions.  He  had  been  at  work  for  perhaps 
thirty-five  minutes,  and  the  house  was  seemingly 
consecrated  to  the  healthy  slumber  of  country  life, 
when  a  stifled  squealing  and  scuffling  in  the  passage 
was  followed  by  a  loud  tap  at  his  door.  Before  he 
had  time  to  answer,  a  much-encumbered  Vera  burst 
into  the  room  with  the  question  :  "  I  say,  can  I  leave 
these  here  ?  " 

"  These  "  were  a  small  black  pig  and  a  lusty  specimen 
of  black-red  gamecock. 

Latimer  was  moderately  fond  of  animals,  and 
particularly  interested  in  small  livestock  rearing  from 

57 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

the  economic  point  of  view  ;  in  fact,  one  of  the 
pamphlets  on  which  he  was  at  that  moment  engaged 
warmly  advocated  the  further  development  of  the  pig 
and  poultry  industry  in  our  rural  districts  }  but  he  was 
pardonably  unwilling  to  share  even  a  commodious 
bedroom  with  samples  of  henroost  and  stye  pro- 
ducts. 

"  Wouldn't  they  be  happier  somewhere  outside  ?  '* 
he  asked,  tactfully  expressing  his  own  preference  in 
the  matter  in  an  apparent  solicitude  for  theirs. 

"  There  is  no  outside,"  said  Vera  impressively, 
"  nothing  but  a  waste  of  dark,  swirling  waters.  The 
reservoir  at  Brinkley  has  burst." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  reservoir  at  Brinkley," 
said  Latimer. 

"Well,  there  isn't  now,  it's  jolly  well  all  over  the 
place,  and  as  we  stand  particularly  low  we're  the  centre 
of  an  inland  sea  just  at  present.  You  see  the  river 
has  overflowed  its  banks  as  well." 

"  Good  gracious  !     Have  any  lives  been  lost  ?  " 

*'  Heaps,  I  should  say.  The  second  housemaid  has 
already  identified  three  bodies  that  have  floated  past 
the  billiard-room  window  as  being  the  young  man  she's 
engaged  to.  Either  she's  engaged  to  a  large  assort- 
ment of  the  population  round  here  or  else  she's  very 
careless  at  identification.  Of  course  it  may  be  the 
same  body  coming  round  again  and  again  in  a  swirl ; 
I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"  But  we  ought  to  go  out  and  do  rescue  work, 
oughtn't  we  ?  "  said  Latimer,  with  the  instinct  of  a 
Parliamentary  candidate  for  getting  into  the  local 
limelight. 

"  We  can't,"  said  Vera  decidedly,  "  we  haven't  any 
boats  and  we're  cut  off  by  a  raging  torrent  from  any 

58 


THE      LULL 

human  habitation.  My  aunt  particularly  hoped  you 
would  keep  to  your  room  and  not  add  to  the  confusion, 
but  she  thought  it  would  be  so  kind  of  you  if  you  would 
take  in  Hartlepool's  Wonder,  the  gamecock,  you  know, 
for  the  night.  You  see,  there  are  eight  other  game- 
cocks, and  they  fight  like  furies  if  they  get  together, 
so  we're  putting  one  in  each  bedroom.  The  fowl- 
houses  are  all  flooded  out,  you  know.  And  then  I 
thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  taking  in  this  wee 
piggie  ;  he's  rather  a  little  love,  but  he  has  a  vile  temper. 
He  gets  that  from  his  mother — not  that  I  like  to  say 
things  against  her  when  she's  lying  dead  and  drowned 
in  her  sty,  poor  thing.  What  he  really  wants  is  a 
man's  firm  hand  to  keep  him  in  order.  I'd  try  and 
grapple  with  him  myself,  only  I've  got  my  chow  in 
my  room,  you  know,  and  he  goes  for  pigs  wherever 
he  finds  them." 

"  Couldn't  the  pig  go  in  the  bathroom  ?  '*  a&ked 
Latimer  faintly,  wishing  that  he  had  taken  up  as 
determined  a  stand  on  the  subject  of  bedroom  swine  as 
the  chow  had. 

"  The  bathroom  f  "  Vera  laughed  shrilly.  "  It'll 
be  full  of  Boy  Scouts  till  morning  if  the  hot  water 
holds  out." 

"  Boy  Scouts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thirty  of  them  came  to  rescue  us  while  the 
water  was  only  waist-high  ;  then  it  rose  another 
three  feet  or  so  and  we  had  to  rescue  them.  We're 
giving  them  hot  baths  in  batches  and  drying  their  clothes 
in  the  hot-air  cupboard,  but,  of  course,  drenched 
clothes  don't  dry  in  a  minute,  and  the  corridor  and 
staircase  are  beginning  to  look  like  a  bit  of  coast 
scenery  by  Tuke.  Two  o£  the  boys  are  wearing  your 
Melton  overcoat }    I  hope  you  don't  mind." 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

"  It's  a  new  overcoat,"  said  Latimer,  with  every 
indication  of  minding  dreadfully. 

"  You'll  take  every  care  of  Hartlepool's  Wonder, 
won't  you  ?  "  said  Vera.  **  His  mother  took  three 
firsts  at  Birmingham,  and  he  was  second  in  the  cockerel 
class  last  year  at  Gloucester,  He'll  probably  roost  on 
the  rail  at  the  bottom  of  your  bed.  I  wonder  if  he'd 
feel  more  at  home  if  some  of  his  wives  were  up  here 
with  him  ?  The  hens  are  all  in  the  pantry,  and  I 
think  I  could  pick  out  Hartlepool  Helen  ;  she's  his 
favourite." 

Latimer  showed  a  belated  firmness  on  the  subject 
of  Hartlepool  Helen,  and  Vera  withdrew  without 
pressing  the  point,  having  first  settled  the  gamecock 
on  his  extemporized  perch  and  taken  an  affectionate 
farewell  of  the  pigling.  Latimer  undressed  and  got 
into  bed  with  all  due  speed,  judging  that  the  pig  would 
abate  its  inquisitorial  restlessness  once  the  light  was 
turned  out.  As  a  substitute  for  a  cosy,  straw-bedded 
sty  the  room  offered,  at  first  inspection,  few  attractions, 
but  the  disconsolate  animal  suddenly  discovered  an 
appliance  in  which  the  most  luxuriously  contrived 
piggeries  were  notably  deficient.  The  sharp  edge  of 
the  underneath  part  of  the  bed  was  pitched  at  exactly 
the  right  elevation  to  permit  the  pigling  to  scrape 
himself  ecstatically  backwards  and  forwards,  with  an 
artistic  humping  of  the  back  at  the  crucial  moment 
and  an  accompanying  gurgle  of  long-drawn  delight. 
The  gamecock,  who  may  have  fancied  that  he  was 
being  rocked  in  the  branches  of  a  pine-tree,  bore  the 
motion  with  greater  fortitude  than  Latimer  was  able 
to  command.  A  series  of  slaps  directed  at  the  pig's 
body  were  accepted  more  as  an  additional  and  pleasing 
irritant  than  as  a  criticism  of  conduct  or  a  hint  to  desist  j 
60 


THE      LULL 

evidently  something  more  than  a  man's  firm  hand 
was  needed  to  deal  with  the  case.  Latimer  slipped 
out  of  bed  in  search  of  a  weapon  of  dissuasion.  There 
was  sufficient  light  in  the  room  to  enable  the  pig  to 
detect  this  manoeuvre,  and  the  vile  temper,  inherited 
from  the  drowned  mother,  found  full  play.  Latimer 
bounded  back  into  bed,  and  his  conqueror,  after  a  few 
threatening  snorts  and  champings  of  its  jaws,  resumed 
its  massage  operations  with  renewed  zeal.  During 
the  long  wakeful  hours  which  ensued  Latimer  tried 
to  distract  his  mind  from  his  own  immediate  troubles 
by  dwelling  with  decent  sympathy  on  the  second  house- 
maid's bereavement,  but  he  found  himself  more  often 
wondering  how  many  Boy  Scouts  were  sharing  his 
Melton  overcoat.  The  role  of  Saint  Martin  malgre 
lui  was  not  one  which  appealed  to  him. 

Towards  dawn  the  pigling  fell  into  a  happy  slumber, 
and  Latimer  might  have  followed  its  example,  but  at 
about  the  same  time  Stupor  Hartlepooli  gave  a  rousing 
crow,  clattered  down  to  the  floor  and  forthwith 
commenced  a  spirited  combat  with  his  reflection  in  the 
wardrobe  mirror.  Remembering  that  the  bird  was 
more  or  less  under  his  care  Latimer  performed  Hague 
Tribunal  offices  by  draping  a  bath-towel  over  the 
provocative  mirror,  but  the  ensuing  peace  was  local 
and  short-lived.  The  deflected  energies  of  the  game- 
cock found  new  outlet  in  a  sudden  and  sustained  attack 
on  the  sleeping  and  temporarily  inoffensive  pigling, 
and  the  duel  which  followed  was  desperate  and 
embittered  beyond  any  possibility  of  effective  interven- 
tion. The  feathered  combatant  had  the  advantage 
of  being  able,  when  hard  pressed,  to  take  refuge  on 
the  bed,  and  freely  availed  himself  of  this  circumstance  ; 
the  pigling  never  quite  succeeded  in  hurling  himself 
6t 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

on  to  the  same  eminence,  but  it  was  not  from  want 
of  trying. 

Neither  side  could  claim  any  decisive  success,  and 
the  struggle  had  been  practically  fought  to  a  standstill 
by  the  time  that  the  maid  appeared  with  the  early 
morning  tea. 

"  Lor,  sir,"  she  exclaimed  in  undisguised  astonish- 
ment, "  do  you  want  those  animals  in  your  room  ? " 

IVant ! 

The  pigling,  as  though  aware  that  it  might  have 
outstayed  its  welcome,  dashed  out  at  the  door,  and 
the  gamecock  followed  it  at  a  more  dignified  pace. 

"  If  Miss  Vera's  dog  sees  that  pig !  "  exclaimed 

the  maid,  and  hurried  off  to  avert  such  a  catastrophe. 

A  cold  suspicion  was  stealing  over  Latimer's  mind  ; 
he  went  to  the  window  and  drew  up  the  blind.  A 
light,  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  but  there  was  not  the 
faintest  trace  of  any  inundation. 

Some  half-hour  later  he  met  Vera  on  the  way  to 
the    breakfast-room. 

'*  I  should  not  like  to  think  of  you  as  a  deliberate 
liar,"  he  observed  coldly,  "  but  one  occasionally  has 
to  do  things  one  does  not  like." 

"  At  any  rate  I  kept  your  mind  from  dwelling  on 
politics  all  the  night,"  said  Vera. 

Which  was,  of  course,  perfectly  true. 


61 


THE       UNKINDEST      BLOW 

THE  season  of  strikes  seemed  to  have  run  itself 
to  a  standstill.  Almost  every  trade  and  in- 
dustry and  calling  in  which  a  dislocation  could  possibly 
be  engineered  had  indulged  in  that  luxury.  The  last 
and  least  successful  convulsion  had  been  the  strike  of 
the  World's  Union  of  Zoological  Garden  attendants, 
who,  pending  the  settlement  of  certain  demands,  refused 
to  minister  further  to  the  wants  of  the  animals  com- 
mitted to  their  charge  or  to  allow  any  other  keepers  to 
take  their  place.  In  this  case  the  threat  of  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  authorities  that  if  the  men  "came 
out "  the  animals  should  come  out  also  had  intensified 
and  precipitated  the  crisis.  This  imminent  prospect 
of  the  larger  carnivores,  to  say  nothing  of  rhinoceroses 
and  bull  bison,  roaming  at  large  and  unfed  in  the 
heart  of  London,  was  not  one  which  permitted  of 
prolonged  conferences.  The  Government  of  the  day, 
which  from  its  tendency  to  be  a  few  hours  behind 
the  course  of  events  had  been  nicknamed  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  afternoon,  was  obliged  to  intervene  with 
promptitude  and  decision.  A  strong  force  of  Blue- 
jackets was  despatched  to  Regent's  Park  to  take  over 
the  temporarily  abandoned  duties  of  the  strikers.  B  lue- 
jackets  were  chosen  in  preference  to  land  forces,  partly 
on  account  of  the  traditional  readiness  of  the  British 
Navy  to  go  anywhere  and  do  anything,  partly  by 
reason  of  the  familiarity  of  the   average  sailor  with 

63 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

monkeys,  parrots,  and  other  tropical  fauna,  but  chiefly 
at  the  urgent  request  of  the  P'irst  Lord  of  the  Admiralty, 
who  was  keenly  desirous  of  an  opportunity  for  per- 
forming some  personal  act  of  unobtrusive  public  service 
within  the  province  of  his  department. 

"  If  he  insists  on  feeding  the  infant  jaguar  him- 
self, in  defiance  of  its  mother's  wishes,  there  may  be 
another  by-election  in  the  north,"  said  one  of  his 
colleagues,  with  a  hopeful  inflection  in  his  voice. 
*'  By-elections  are  not  very  desirable  at  present,  but 
we  must  not  be  selfish." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  strike  collapsed  peacefully 
without  any  outside  inter\'ention.  The  majority 
of  the  keepers  had  become  so  attached  to  their  charges 
that  they  returned  to  work  of  their  own  accord. 

And  then  the  nation  and  the  newspapers  turned 
with  a  sense  of  relief  to  happier  things.  It  seemed 
as  if  a  new  era  of  contentment  was  about  to  dawn. 
Everybody  had  struck  who  could  possibly  want  to 
strike  or  who  could  possibly  be  cajoled  or  bullied 
into  striking,  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not.  The 
lighter  and  brighter  side  of  life  might  now  claim  some 
attention.  And  conspicuous  among  the  other  topics 
that  sprang  into  sudden  prominence  was  the  pending 
Falvertoon   divorce  suit. 

1  he  Duke  of  Falvertoon  was  one  of  those  human 
hors  (Topuvres  that  stimulate  the  public  appetite  for 
sensation  witl  out  giving  it  much  to  feed  on.  As 
a  mere  child  he  had  been  precociously  brilliant  ;  he 
had  declined  the  editorship  of  the  Anglian  Review 
at  an  age  when  most  boys  are  content  to  have  declined 
mensa^  a  table,  and  though  he  could  not  claim  to  have 
originated  the  Futurist  movement  in  literature,  his 
*'  Letters  to  a  possible  Grandson,"  written  at  the  age 

64 


THE      UNKINDEST      BLOW 

of  fourteen,  had  attracted  considerable  notice.  In 
later  days  his  brilliancy  had  been  less  conspicuously 
displayed.  During  a  debate  in  the  House  of  Lords 
on  affairs  in  A^loroccojat  a  moment  when  that  country, 
for  the  fifth  time  in  seven  years,  had  brought  half 
Europe  to  the  verge  of  war,  he  had  interpolated  the 
remark  "  a  little  Moor  and  how  much  it  is,"  but  in 
spite  of  the  encouraging  reception  accorded  to  this 
one  political  utterance  he  was  never  tempted  to  a 
further  display  in  that  direction.  It  began  to  be  gener- 
ally understood  that  he  did  not  intend  to  supplement 
his  numerous  town  and  country  residences  by  living 
overmuch  in  the  public  eye. 

And  then  had  come  the  unlooked-for  tidings  of 
the  imminent  proceedings  for  divorce.  And  such 
a  divorce  !  There  were  cross-suits  and  allegations 
and  counter-allegations,  charges  of  cruelty  and  deser- 
tion, everything  in  fact  that  was  necessary  to  make 
the  case  one  of  the  most  complicated  and  sensational 
of  its  kind.  And  the  number  of  distinguished  people 
involved  or  cited  as  witnesses  not  only  embraced 
both  political  parties  in  the  realm  and  several  Colonial 
governors,  but  included  an  exotic  contingent  from 
France,  Hungary,  the  United  States  of  North  America, 
and  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Baden.  Hotel  accommoda- 
tion of  the  more  expensive  sort  began  to  experience  a 
strain  on  its  resources.  "  It  will  be  quite  like  the 
Durbar  without  the  elephants,"  exclaimed  an  enthusi- 
astic lady  who,  to  do  her  justice,  had  never  seen  a 
Durbar.  The  general  feeling  was  one  of  thankful- 
ness that  the  last  of  the  strikes  had  been  got  over 
before  the  date  fixed  for  the  hearing  of  the  great 
suit. 

As  a  reaction  from  the  season  of  gloom  and  in- 
65 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

dustrial  strife  that  had  just  passed  away  the  agencies 
that  purvey  and  stage-manage  sensations  laid  them- 
selves out  to  do  their  level  best  on  this  momentous 
occasion.  Men  v/ho  had  made  their  reputations  as 
special  descriptive  writers  were  mobilized  from  dis- 
tant corners  of  Europe  and  the  further  side  of  the 
Atlantic  in  order  to  enrich  with  their  pens  the  daily 
printed  records  of  the  case  ;  one  word-painter,  who 
specialized  in  descriptions  of  how  witnesses  turn  pale 
under  cross-examination,  was  summoned  hurriedly 
back  from  a  famous  and  prolonged  murder  trial  in 
Sicily,  where  indeed  his  talents  were  being  decidedly 
wasted.  Thumb-nail  artists  and  expert  kodak  mani- 
pulators were  retained  at  extravagant  salaries,  and 
special  dress  reporters  were  in  high  demand.  An 
enterprising  Paris  firm  of  costume  builders  pre- 
sented the  defendant  Duchess  with  three  special 
creations,  to  be  worn,  marked,  learned,  and  exten- 
sively reported  at  various  critical  stages  of  the  trial  ; 
and  as  for  the  cinematograph  agents,  their  industry 
and  persistence  was  untiring.  Films  representing  the 
Duke  saying  good-bye  to  bh  favourite  canary  on  the 
eve  of  the  trial  were  in  readiness  weeks  before  the 
event  was  due  to  take  place  ;  other  films  depicted 
the  Duchess  holding  imaginary  consultations  with 
fictitious  lawyers  or  making  a  light  repast  off^  specially 
advertised  vegetarian  sandwiches  during  a  supposed 
luncheon  interval.  As  far  as  human  foresight  and 
human  enterprise  could  go  nothing  was  lacking  to 
make  the  trial  a  success. 

Two  days  before  the  case  was  down  for  hearing 
the  advance  reporter  of  an  important  syndicate  ob- 
tained an  interview  with  the  Duke  for  the  purpose 
of  gleaning  some  final  grains  of  information  concern- 

66 


THE      UNKINDEST      BLOW 

ing  his  Grace's  personal  arrangements  during  the 
trial. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  say  this  will  be  one  of  the  biggest 
affairs  of  its  kind  during  the  lifetime  of  a  generation," 
began  the  reporter  as  an  excuse  for  the  unsparing 
minuteness  of  detail  that  he  was  about  to  make  quest 
for. 

"  I  suppose  so — if  it  comes  oflF,"  said  the  Duke 
lazily. 

"If?"  queried  the  reporter,  in  a  voice  that  was 
something  between  a  gasp  and  a  scream. 

"  The  Duchess  and  I  are  both  thinking  of  going 
on  strike,"  said  the  Duke. 

"  Strike  !  " 

The  baleful  word  flashed  out  in  all  its  old  hideous 
familiarity.  Was  there  to  be  no  end  to  its  recur- 
rence ? 

**  Do  you  mean,"  faltered  the  reporter,  "  that  you 
are  contemplating  a  mutual  withdrawal  of  the 
charges  ? " 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  Duke. 

"  But  think  of  the  arrangements  that  have  beer* 
made,  the  special  reporting,  the  cinematographs, 
the  catering  for  the  distinguished  foreign  witnesses,. 
the  prepared  music-hall  allusions  j  think  of  all  the 
money  that  has  been  sunk " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  Duke  coldly,  "  the  Duchess 
and  I  have  realized  that  it  is  we  who  provide  the 
material  out  of  which  this  great  far-reaching  industry 
has  been  built  up.  Widespread  employment  will 
be  given  and  enormous  profits  made  during  the  dura- 
tion of  the  case,  and  we,  on  whom  all  the  stress  and 
racket  falls,  will  get — what  ?  An  unenviable  no- 
toriety and  the  privilege  of  paying  heavy  legal  expenses 

67 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

whichever  way  the  verdict  goes.  Hence  our  decision 
to  strike.  We  don't  wish  to  be  reconciled  ;  we  fully 
realize  that  it  is  a  grave  step  to  take,  but  unless  we 
get  some  reasonable  consideration  out  of  this  vast 
stream  of  wealth  and  industry  that  we  have  called  into 
being  we  intend  coming  out  of  court  and  staying  out. 
Good  afternoon." 

The  news  of  this  latest  strike  spread  universal 
dismay.  Its  inaccessiblity  to  the  ordinary  methods 
of  persuasion  made  it  peculiarly  formidable.  If  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  persisted  in  being  reconciled  the 
Government  could  hardly  be  called  on  to  interfere. 
Public  opinion  in  the  shape  of  social  ostracism  might 
be  brought  to  bear  on  them,  but  that  was  as  far  as 
coercive  measures  could  go.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  a  conference,  with  powers  to  propose  liberal 
terms.  As  it  was,  several  of  the  foreign  witnesses 
had  already  departed  and  others  had  telegraphed  can- 
celling their  hotel  arrangements. 

The  conference,  protracted,  uncomfortable,  and 
occasionally  acrimonious,  succeeded  at  last  in  arrang- 
ing for  a  resumption  of  litigation,  but  it  was  a  fruit- 
less victory.  I^he  Duke,  with  a  touch  of  his  earlier 
precocity,  died  of  premature  decay  a  fortnight  before 
die  date  fixed  for  the  new  trial. 


68 


THE      ROMANCERS 

IT  was  autumn  in  London,  that  blessed  season  be- 
tween the  harshness  of  winter  and  the  insinceri- 
ties of  summer  ;  a  trustful  season  when  one  buys  bulbs 
and  sees  to  the  registration  of  one's  vote,  believing 
perpetually  in  spring  and  a  change  of  Government. 

Morton  Crosby  sat  on  a  bench  in  a  secluded  corner 
of  Hyde  Park,  lazily  enjoying  a  cigarette  and  watch- 
ing the  slow  grazing  promenade  of  a  pair  of  snow- 
geese,  the  male  looking  rather  like  an  albino  edition 
of  the  russet-hued  female.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  Crosby  also  noted  with  some  interest  the  hesita- 
ting hoverings  of  a  human  figure,  which  had  passed 
and  repassed  his  seat  two  or  three  times  at  shorten- 
ing intervals,  like  a  wary  crow  about  to  alight  near 
some  possibly  edible  morsel.  Inevitably  the  figure 
came  to  an  anchorage  on  the  bench,  within  easy 
talking  distance  of  its  original  occupant.  The  un- 
cared-for clothes,  the  aggressive,  grizzled  beard,  and 
the  furtive,  evasive  eye  of  the  new-comer  bespoke 
the  professional  cadger,  the  man  who  would  undergo 
hours  of  humiliating  tale-spinning  and  rebuff^  rather 
than  adventure  on  half  a  day's  decent  work. 

For  a  while  the  new-comer  fixed  his  eyes  straight 
in  front  of  him  in  a  strenuous,  unseeing  gaze  ;  then 
his  voice  broke  out  with  the  insinuating  inflection  of 
one  who  has  a  story  to  retail  well  worth  any  loiterer's 
while  to  listen  to. 

69 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

"  It's  a  strange  world,"  he  said. 

As  the  statement  met  with  no  response  he  altered 
it  to  the  form  of  a  question. 

"  I  dare  say  you've  found  it  to  be  a  strange  world, 
mister  ? " 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Crosby,  **  the 
strangeness  has  worn  oflr  in  the  course  of  thirty-six 
years." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  greybeard,  "  I  could  tell  you  things 
that  you'd  hardly  believe.  Marvellous  things  that 
have  really  happened  to  me." 

"  Nowadays  there  is  not  demand  for  marvellous 
things  that  have  really  happened,"  said  Crosby  dis- 
couragingly ;  "  the  professional  writers  of  fiction 
turn  these  things  out  so  much  better.  For  instance, 
my  neighbours  tell  me  wonderful,  incredible  things 
that  their  Aberdeens  and  chows  and  borzois  have 
done  ;  I  never  listen  to  them.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
have  read  The  Hound  of  the  Baskervilles  three  times." 

The  greybeard  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat ;  then 
he  opened  up  new  country. 

"  I  take  it  that  you  are  a  professing  Christian,"  he 
observed. 

"  I  am  a  prominent  and  I  think  I  may  say  an 
influential  member  of  the  Mussulman  community 
of  Eastern  Persia,"  said  Crosby,  making  an  excursion 
himself  into  the  realms  of  fiction. 

The  greybeard  was  obviously  disconcerted  at  this 
new  check  of  introductory  conversation,  but  the 
defeat  was  only  momentary. 

"  Persia.  I  should  never  have  taken  you  for  a 
Persian,"  he  remarked,  with  a  somewhat  aggrieved  air. 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Crosby  j  *'  my  father  was  an 
Afghan." 

70 


THE      ROMANCERS 

"  An  Afghan  ! "  said  the  other,  smitten  Intu 
bewildered  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  he  recc^  .ered 
himself  and  renewed  his  attack. 

"  Afghanistan.  Ah  !  We've  had  some  wars  with 
that  country  ;  now,  I  dare  say,  instead  of  fighting 
it  we  might  have  learned  something  from  it.  A  very 
wealthy  country,  I  believe.     No  real  poverty  there." 

He  raised  his  voice  on  the  word  "  poverty  "  with 
a  suggestion  of  intense  feeling.  Crosby  saw  the 
opening  and  avoided  it. 

"  It  possesses,  nevertheless,  a  number  of  highly 
talented  and  ingenious  beggars,"  he  said  ;  "  if  I  had 
not  spoken  so  disparagingly  of  marvellous  things  that 
have  really  happened  I  would  tell  you  the  story  of 
Ibrahim  and  the  eleven  camel-loads  of  blotting-paper. 
Also  I  have  forgotten  exactly  how  it  ended." 

"  My  own  life-story  is  a  curious  one,"  said  the 
stranger,  apparently  stifling  all  desire  to  hear  the  history 
of  Ibrahim  ;    "  I  was  not  always  as  you  see  me  now." 

"  We  are  supposed  to  undergo  complete  change  in 
the  course  of  every  seven  years,"  said  Crosby,  as  an 
explanation  of  the  foregoing  announcement. 

"  I  mean  I  was  not  always  in  such  distressing  cir- 
cumstances as  I  am  at  present,"  pursued  the  stranger 
doggedly. 

"  That  sounds  rather  rude,"  &iid  Crosby  stiffly, 
"considering  that  you  are  at  present  talking  to  a 
man  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  most  gifted  conversa- 
tionalists of  the  Afghan  border." 

"  I  don't  mean  in  that  way,"  said  the  greybeard 
hastily  ;  *'  I've  been  very  much  interested  in  your 
conversation.  I  was  alluding  to  my  unfortunate 
financial  situation.  You  mayn't  hardly  believe  it, 
but  at  the  present  moment  I  am  absolutely  without 

71 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

a  farthing.  Don't  see  any  prospect  of  getting  any 
money,  cither,  for  the  next  few  days.  I  don't  suppose 
you've  ever  found  yourself  in  such  a  position,"  he 
added. 

"  In  the  town  of  Yom,"  said  Crosby,  "  which  is 
in  Southern  Afghanistan,  and  which  also  happens  to 
be  my  birthplace,  there  was  a  Chinese  philosopher 
who  used  to  say  that  one  of  the  three  chiefest  human 
blessings  was  to  be  absolutely  without  money.  I 
forget  what  the  other  two  were." 

"  Ah,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  tone  that 
betrayed  no  enthusiasm  for  the  philosopher's  memory  ; 
"  and  did  he  practise  what  he  preached  ?  That's  the 
test." 

"  He  lived  happily  with  very  little  money  or  re- 
sources,'' said  Crosby, 

"  Then  I  expect  he  had  friends  who  would  help 
him  liberally  whenever  he  was  in  difficulties,  such 
as  I  am  in  at  present. 

"  In  Yom,"  said  Crosby,  "  it  is  not  necessary  to 
have  friends  in  order  to  obtain  help.  Any  citizen 
of  Yom  would  help  a  stranger  as  a  matter  of  course." 

The  greybeard  was  nov/  genuinely  interested. 
The  conversation  had  at  last  taken  a  favourable 
turn. 

"  If  some  one,  like  me,  for  instance,  who  was  in 
undeserved  difficulties,  asked  a  citizen  of  that  town 
you  speak  of  for  a  small  loan  to  tide  over  a  few 
days'  impecuniosity — five  shillings,  or  perhap/S  a  rather 
larger  sum — would  it  be  given  to  him  as  a  matter  of 
course  ?  " 

"  There  would  be  a  certain  preliminary,"  said 
Crosby  ;  "  one  would  take  him  to  a  wine-shop  and 
treat  him  to  a  measure  of  wine,  and  then,  after  a 

72 


THE      ROMANCERS 

little  high-flown  conversation,  one  would  put  the 
desired  sum  in  his  hand  and  wish  him  good-day. 
It  is  a  roundabout  way  of  performing  a  simple  trans- 
action, but  in  the  East  all  ways  are  roundabout." 

The  listener's  eyes  were  glittering. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  thin  sneer  ringing 
meaningly  through  his  words,  "  I  suppose  you've 
given  up  all  those  generous  customs  since  you  left 
your  town.     Don't  practise  them  now,  I  expect." 

"  No  one  who  has  lived  in  Yom,"  said  Crosby 
fervently,  "  and  remembers  its  green  hills  covered 
with  apricot  and  almond  trees,  and  the  cold  water 
that  rushes  down  like  a  caress  from  the  upland  snows 
and  dashes  under  the  little  wooden  bridges,  no  one 
who  remembers  these  things  and  treasures  the  memory 
of  them  would  ever  give  up  a  single  one  of  its  unwritten 
laws  and  customs.  To  me  they  are  as  binding  as 
though  I  still  lived  in  that  hallowed  home  of  my  youth.'* 

"  Then  if  I  was  to  ask  you  for  a  small  loan " 

began  the  greybeard  fawningly,  edging  nearer  on  the 
seat  and  hurriedly  wondering  how  large  he  might 
safely  make  his  request,  "  if  I  was  to  ask  you  for, 
say " 

"  At  any  other  time,  certainly,"  said  Crosby  ; 
"  in  the  months  of  November  and  December,  how- 
ever, it  is  absolutely  forbidden  for  anyone  of  our 
race  to  give  or  receive  loans  or  gifts  ;  in  fact,  one 
does  not  willingly  speak  of  them.  It  is  considered 
unlucky.     We  will  therefore  close  this  discussion." 

"  But  it  is  still  October  !  "  exclaimed  the  adven- 
turer with  an  eager,  angry  whine,  as  Crosby  rose 
from  his  seat  ;  "  wants  eight  days  to  the  end  of  the 
month  !  " 

"  The    Afghan   November   began  yesterday,*^    said 

73 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

Crosby  severely,  and  in  another  moment  he  was 
striding  across  the  Park,  leaving  his  recent  companion 
scowling  and  muttering  furiously  on  the  seat. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  his  story,"  he  chattered 
to  himself ;  "  pack  of  nasty  lies  from  beginning  to 
end.  Wish  I'd  told  him  so  to  his  face.  Calling 
himself  an  Afghan  I" 

The  snorts  and  snarls  that  escaped  from  him  for 
the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  went  far  to  support  the 
truth  of  the  old  saying  that  two  of  a  trade  never  agree. 


74 


THE    S  C  H  A  R  T  Z  -  M  E  T  T  E  R  K  L  U  M  E 
METHOD 

LADY  CARLOTTA  stepped  out  on  to  the 
platform  of  the  small  wayside  station  and 
took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  its  uninteresting 
length,  to  kill  time  till  the  train  should  be  pleased  to 
proceed  on  its  way.  Then,  in  the  roadway  beyond, 
she  saw  a  horse  struggling  with  a  more  than  ample 
load,  and  a  carter  of  the  sort  that  seems  to  bear  a  sullen 
hatred  against  the  animal  that  helps  him  to  earn  a 
living.  Lady  Carlotta  promptly  betook  her  to  the 
roadway,  and  put  rather  a  different  complexion  on  the 
struggle.  Certain  of  her  acquaintances  were  wont  to 
give  her  plentiful  admonition  as  to  the  undesirability 
of  interfering  on  behalf  of  a  distressed  animal,  such 
interference  being  "  none  of  her  business."  Only  once 
had  she  put  the  doctrine  of  non-interference  into 
practice,  when  one  of  its  most  eloquent  exponents  had 
been  besieged  for  nearly  three  hours  in  a  small  and 
extremely  uncomfortable  may-tree  by  an  angry  boar- 
pig,  while  Lady  Carlotta,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence, 
had  proceeded  with  the  water-colour  sketch  she  was 
engaged  on,  and  refused  to  interfere  between  the  boar 
and  his  prisoner.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  she  lost  the 
friendship  of  the  ultimately  rescued  lady.  On  this 
occasion  she  merely  lost  the  train,  which  gave  way 
to  the  first  sign  of  impatience  it  had  shown  throughout 
the  journey,  and  steamed  off  without  her.  She  bore 
75 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

the  desertion  with  philosophical  indifference  ;  her 
friends  and  relations  were  thoroughly  well  used  to  the 
fact  of  her  luggage  arriving  without  her.  She  wired 
a  vague  non-committal  message  to  her  destination  to 
say  that  she  was  coming  on  "  by  another  train."  Before 
she  had  time  to  think  what  her  next  move  might  be 
she  was  confronted  by  an  imposingly  attired  lady,  who 
seemed  to  be  taking  a  prolonged  mental  inventory  of 
her  clothes  and  looks. 

"  You  must  be  Miss  Hope,  the  governess  I've  come 
to  meet,"  said  the  apparition,  in  a  tone  that  admitted 
of  very  little  argument. 

"  Very  well,  if  I  must  I  must,"  said  Lady  Carlotta 
to  herself  with  dangerous  meekness. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Ouabarl,"  continued  the  lady  ;  "  and 
where,  pray,  is  your  luggage  ? " 

"  It's  gone  astray,"  said  the  alleged  governess, 
falling  in  with  the  excellent  rule  of  life  that  the  absent 
are  always  to  blame  ;  the  luggage  had,  in  point  of  fact, 
behaved  with  perfect  correctitude.  "  I've  just  tele- 
graphed about  it,"  she  added,  with  a  nearer  approach 
to  truth. 

"  How  provoking,"  said  Mrs.  Quabarl  ;  '*  these 
railway  companies  are  so  careless.  However,  my  maid 
can  lend  you  tilings  for  the  night,"  and  she  led  the  way 
to  her  car. 

During  the  drive  to  the  Quabarl  mansion  Lady 
Carlotta  was  impressively  introduced  to  the  nature  of 
the  charge  that  had  been  thrust  upon  her  ;  she  learned 
that  Claude  and  Wilfrid  were  delicate,  sensitive  young 
people,  that  Irene  had  the  artistic  temperament  highly 
developed,  and  that  Viola  was  something  or  other  else 
of  a  mould  equally  commonplace  among  children  of 
tliat  class  and  type  in  the  twentieth  century. 

76 


B  C  H  A  R  T  Z-M  ETTERKLUME  METHOD 

"  I  wish  them  not  only  to  be  taught"  said  Mrs. 
Quabarl,  "  but  interested  in  what  they  learn.  In 
their  history  lessons,  for  instance,  you  must  try  to 
make  them  feel  that  they  are  being  introduced  to  the 
life-stories  of  men  and  women  who  really  lived,  not 
merely  committing  a  mass  of  names  and  dates  to 
memory.  French,  of  course,  I  shall  expect  you  to 
talk  at  mealtimes  several  days  in  the  week." 

"  I  shall  talk  French  four  days  of  the  week  and 
Russian  in  the  remaining  three." 

"  Russian  ?  My  dear  Miss  Hope,  no  one  in  the 
house  speaks  or  understands  Russian." 

"  That  will  not  embarrass  me  in  the  least,"  said 
Lady  Carlotta  coldly. 

Mrs.  Quabarl,  to  use  a  colloquial  expression,  was 
knocked  off  her  perch.  She  was  one  of  those  imper- 
fectly self-assured  individuals  who  are  magnificent 
and  autocratic  as  long  as  they  are  not  seriously  opposed. 
The  least  show  of  unexpected  resistance  goes  a  long 
way  towards  rendering  them  cowed  and  apologetic. 
When  the  new  governess  failed  to  express  wondering 
admiration  of  the  large  newly-purchased  and  expen- 
sive car,  and  lightly  alluded  to  the  superior  advantages 
of  one  or  two  makes  which  had  just  been  put  on  the 
market,  the  discomfiture  of  her  patroness  became  almost 
abject.  Her  feelings  were  those  which  might  have 
animated  a  general  of  ancient  warfaring  days,  on 
beholding  his  heaviest  battle-elephant  ignominiously 
driven  off  the  field  by  slingers  and  javelin  throwers. 

At  dinner  that  evening,  although  reinforced  by 
her  husband,  who  usually  duplicated  her  opinions 
and  lent  her  moral  support  generally,  Mrs.  Quabarl 
regained  none  of  her  lost  ground.  The  governess 
not  only  helped  herself  well  and  truly  to  wine,  but 

77 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

held  forth  with  considerable  show  of  critical  know- 
ledge on  various  vintage  matters,  concerning  which 
the  Quabarls  were  in  no  wise  able  to  pose  as  authori- 
ties. Previous  governesses  had  limited  their  con- 
versation on  the  wine  topic  to  a  respectful  and  doubt- 
less sincere  expression  of  a  preference  for  water. 
When  this  one  went  as  far  as  to  recommend  a  wine 
firm  in  whose  hands  you  could  not  go  very  far  wrong 
A4rs.  Ouabarl  thought  it  time  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion into  more  usual  channels. 

"  We  got  very  satisfactory  references  about  you 
from  Canon  Teep,"  she  observed  ;  "  a  very  estimable 
man,   I  should  think." 

"  Drinks  like  a  fish  and  beats  his  wife,  otherwise 
a  very  lovable  character,"  said  the  governess  imper- 
turbably. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Hope  !  I  trust  you  are  exaggera- 
ting," exclaimed  the  Quabarls  in  unison. 

"  One  must  in  justice  admit  that  there  is  some  pro- 
vocation," continued  the  romancer.  "  Mrs.  Teep  is 
quite  the  most  irritating  bridge-player  that  I  have 
ever  sat  down  with  ;  her  leads  and  declarations  would 
condone  a  certain  amount  of  brutality  in  her  partner, 
but  to  souse  her  with  the  contents  of  the  only  soda- 
water  syphon  in  the  house  on  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
when  one  couldn't  get  another,  argues  an  indif- 
ference to  the  comfort  of  others  which  I  cannot 
altogether  overlook.  You  may  think  me  hasty  in 
my  judgments,  but  it  was  practically  on  account  of 
the  svphon  incident  that  I  left." 

"  We  will  talk  of  this  some  other  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Ouabarl  hastily. 

~  "  1  shall  never  allude  to  it  again,"  said  the  gover- 
ness with  decision. 

78 


S  C  H  A  R  T  Z-M  ETTERKLUME  METHOD 

Mr.  Quabarl  made  a  welcome  diversion  by  asking 
what  studies  the  new  instructress  proposed  to  inau- 
gurate on  the  morrow. 

"  History  to  begin  with,"  she  informed  him. 

"  Ah,  history,"  he  observed  sagely  ;  "  now  in 
teaching  them  history  you  must  take  care  to  interest 
them  in  what  they  learn.  You  must  make  them  feel 
that  they  are  being  introduced  to  the  life-stories  of 
men  and  women  who  really  lived " 

"  I've  told  her  all  that,"  interposed  Mrs.  Quabarl. 

*'  I  teach  history  on  the  Schartz-Metterklume 
method,"  said  the  governess  loftily. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  her  listeners,  thinking  it  expedient 
to  assume  an  acquaintance  at  least  with  the  name. 

"  What  are  you  children  doing  out  here  ?  "  de- 
manded Mrs,  Quabarl  the  next  morning,  on  finding 
Irene  sitting  rather  glumly  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
while  her  sister  was  perched  in  an  attitude  of  depressed 
discomfort  on  the  window-seat  behind  her,  with  a 
wolf-skin  rug  almost  covering  her. 

"  We  are  having  a  history  lesson,"  came  the  un- 
expected reply.  "  I  am  supposed  to  be  Rome,  and 
Viola  up  there  is  the  she-wolf;  not  a  real  wolf,  but 
the  figure  of  one  that  the  Romans  used  to  set  store 
by — I  forget  why.  Claude  and  Wilfrid  have  gone 
to  fetch  the  shabby  women." 

"  The  shabby  women  ?  " 

**  Yes,  they've  got  to  carry  them  off.  They  didn't 
want  to,  but  Miss  Hope  got  one  of  father's  fives- 
bats  and  said  she'd  give  them  a  number  nine  spank- 
ing if  they  didn't,  so  they've  gone  to  do  it." 

A  loud,  angry  screaming  from  the  direction  of  the 
lawn  drew  Mrs,  Quabarl  thither  in  hot  haste,  fearful 
lest  the  threatened  castigation  might  even  now  be 
79  D 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

in  process  of  infliction.  The  outcry,  however,  came 
principally  from  the  two  small  daughters  of  the  lodge- 
keeper,  who  were  being  hauled  and  pushed  towards 
the  house  by  the  panting  and  dishevelled  Claude  and 
Wilfrid,  whose  task  was  rendered  even  more  arduous 
by  the  incessant,  if  not  very  effectual,  attacks  of  the 
captured  maidens'  small  brother.  The  governess, 
fives-bat  in  hand,  sat  negligently  on  the  stone  balus- 
trade, presiding  over  the  scene  with  the  cold  impar- 
tiality of  a  Goddess  of  Battles.  A  furious  and  re- 
peated chorus  of  "  I'll  tell  muvver "  rose  from  the 
lodge  children,  but  the  lodge-mother,  who  was  hard 
of  hearing,  was  for  the  moment  immersed  in  the  pre- 
occupation of  her  washtub.  After  an  apprehensive 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  lodge  (the  good  woman 
was  gifted  with  the  highly  militant  temper  which  is 
sometimes  the  privilege  of  deafness)  Mrs.  Quabarl 
flew  indignantly  to  the  rescue  of  the  struggling  cap- 
tives. 

"  Wilfrid  !  Claude  !  Let  those  children  go  at 
once.  Miss  Hope,  what  on  earth  is  the  meaning  of 
this  scene  .?  " 

"  Early  Roman  history  ;  the  Sabine  women,  don't 
you  know  .''  It's  the  Schartz-Metterklume  method 
to  make  children  understand  history  by  acting  it 
themselves  ;  fixes  it  in  their  memory,  you  know. 
Of  course,  if,  thanks  to  your  interference,  your 
boys  go  through  life  thinking  that  the  Sabine  women 
ultimately  escaped,  I  really  cannot  be  held  respon- 
sible " 

"  You  may  be  very  clever  and  modern.  Miss  Hope," 
said  Mrs.  Quabarl  firmly,  "but  I  should  like  you  to 
leave  here  by  the  next  train.  Your  luggage  will  be 
sent  after  you  as  soon  as  it  arrives." 

80 


SCH  A  RTZ-METTERKLUME  METHOD 

"  I'm  not  certain  exactly  where  I  shall  be  for  the 
next  few  days,"  said  the  dismissed  instructress  of 
youth  ;  "you  might  keep  my  luggage  till  I  wire  my 
address.  There  are  only  a  couple  of  trunks  and  some 
golf-clubs  and  a  leopard  cub." 

"  A  leopard  cub  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Quabarl.  Even 
in  her  departure  this  extraordinary  person  seemed 
destined  to  leave  a  trail  of  embarrassment  behind 
her. 

"Well,  it's  rather  left  off  being  a  cub  ;  it's  more 
than  half-grown,  you  know.  A  fowl  every  day 
and  a  rabbit  on  Sundays  is  what  it  usually  gets.  Raw 
beef  makes  it  too  excitable.  Don't  trouble  about 
getting  the  car  for  me,  I'm  rather  inclined  for  a 
walk." 

And  Lady  Carlotta  strode  out  of  the  Quabarl 
horizon. 

The  advent  of  the  genuine  Miss  Hope,  who  had 
made  a  mistake  as  to  the  day  on  which  she  was  due 
to  arrive,  caused  a  turmoil  which  that  good  lady 
was  quite  unused  to  inspiring.  Obviously  the  Qua- 
barl family  had  been  woefully  befooled,  but  a  certain 
amount  of  relief  came  with  the  knowledge. 

"  How  tiresome  for  you,  dear  Carlotta,"  said  her 
hostess,  when  the  overdue  guest  ultimately  arrived  ; 
"  how  very  tiresome  losing  your  train  and  having 
to  stop  overnight  in  a  strange  place." 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Lady  Carlotta  j  "  not  at  all 
tiresome — for  me." 


8i 


THE      SEVENTH       PULLET 

IT'S  not  the  daily  grind  that  I  complain  of," 
said  Blenkinthrope  resentfully  j  "it's  the  dull 
grey  sameness  of  my  life  outside  of  office  hours. 
Nothing  of  interest  comes  my  way,  nothing  remarkable 
or  out  of  the  common.  Even  the  little  things  that 
I  do  try  to  find  some  interest  in  don't  seem  to  interest 
other  people.     Things  in  my  garden,  for  instance." 

"The  potato  that  weighed  just  over  two  pounds," 
said  his  friend  Gorworth. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  about  that  ?  "  said  Blenkinthrope  ) 
"  I  was  telling  the  others  in  the  train  this  morning. 
I  forgot  if  I'd  told  you." 

"To  be  exact  you  told  me  that  it  weighed  just 
under  two  pounds,  but  I  took  into  account  the  fact 
that  abnormal  vegetables  and  freshwater  fish  have  an 
after-life,  in  which  growth  is  not  arrested." 

"  You're  just  like  the  others,"  said  Blenkinthrope 
sadly.  "  you  only  make  fun  of  it." 

"  The  fault  is  with  the  potato,  not  with  us,"  said 
Gorworth  ;  "  we  are  not  in  the  least  interested  in 
it  because  it  is  not  in  the  least  interesting.  The  men 
you  go  up  in  the  train  with  every  day  are  just  in 
the  same  case  as  yourself;  their  lives  are  common- 
place and  not  very  interesting  to  themselves,  and  they 
certainly  are  not  going  to  wax  enthusiastic  over  the 
commonplace  events  in  other  men's  lives.  Tell  them 
something  startling,  dramatic,  piquant  that  has  hap- 
pened to  yourself  or  to  some  one  in  your  family,  and 
you  will  capture  their  interest  at  once.     They  will 

82 


THE      SEVENTH       PULLET 

talk  about  you  with  a  certain  personal  pride  to  all 
their  acquaintances.  '  Man  I  know  intimately,  fellow 
called  Blenkinthrope,  lives  down  my  way,  had  two 
of  his  fingers  clawed  clean  off  by  a  lobster  he  was 
carrying  home  to  supper.  Doctor  says  entire  hand  may 
have  to  come  off.'  Now  that  is  conversation  of  a 
very  high  order.  But  imagine  walking  into  a  tennis 
club  with  the  remark  :  *  I  know  a  man  who  has  grown 
a  potato  weighing  two  and  a  quarter  pounds.'  " 

"  But  hang  it  all,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Blenkin- 
thrope  impatiently,  "haven't  I  just  told  you  that 
nothing  of  a  remarkable  nature  ever  happens  to  me  ?  " 

"  Inventsomething,"saidGorworth.  Since  winning 
a  prize  for  excellence  in  Scriptural  knowledge  at  a  pre- 
paratory school  he  had  felt  licensed  to  be  a  little  more  un- 
scrupulous than  the  circle  he  moved  in.  Much  might 
surely  be  excused  to  one  who  in  early  life  could  give  a  list 
of  seventeen  trees  mentioned  in  the  Old  Testament. 

*'  What  sort  of  thing  ? "  asked  Blenkinthrope, 
somewhat  snappishly. 

"  A  snake  got  into  your  hen-run  yesterday  morning 
and  killed  six  out  of  seven  pullets,  first  mesmeriz- 
ing them  with  its  eyes  and  then  biting  them  as  they 
stood  helpless.  The  seventh  pullet  was  one  of  that 
French  sort,  with  feathers  all  over  its  eyes,  so  it 
escaped  the  mesmeric  snare,  and  just  flew  at  what  it 
could  see  of  the  snake  and  pecked  it  to  pieces." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Blenkinthrope  stiffly  ;  "  it's 
a  very  clever  invention.  If  such  a  thing  had  really 
happened  in  my  poultry-run  I  admit  I  should  have 
been  proud  and  interested  to  tell  people  about  it. 
But  I'd  rather  stick  to  fact,  even  if  it  is  plain  fact." 
All  the  same  his  mind  dwelt  wistfully  on  the  story 
of  the   Seventh    Pullet.     He   could   picture   himself 

83 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

telling  it  in  the  train  amid  the  absorbed  interest  of 
his  fellow-passengers.  Unconsciously  all  sorts  of  little 
details  and  improvements  began  to  suggest  themselves. 

Wistfulness  was  still  his  dominant  mood  when  he 
took  his  seat  in  the  railway  carriage  the  next  morn- 
ing. Opposite  him  sat  Stevenham,  who  had  at- 
tained to  a  recognized  brevet  of  importance  through 
the  fact  of  an  uncle  having  dropped  dead  in  the  act 
of  voting  at  a  Parliamentary  election.  That  had 
happened  three  years  ago,  but  Stevenham  was  still 
deferred  to  on  all  questions  of  home  and  foreign  politics. 

"  Hullo,  how's  the  giant  mushroom,  or  whatever 
it  was  ?  "  was  all  the  notice  Blenkinthrope  got  from 
his  fellow  travellers. 

Young  Duckby,  whom  he  mildly  disliked,  speedily 
monopolized  the  general  attention  by  an  account  of 
a  domestic  bereavement. 

"  Had  four  young  pigeons  carried  off  last  night  by 
a  whacking  big  rat.  Oh,  a  monster  he  must  have 
been  ;  you  could  tell  by  the  size  of  the  hole  he  made 
breaking  into  the  loft." 

No  moderate-sized  rat  ever  seemed  to  carry  out  any 
predatory  operations  in  these  regions  ;  they  were  all 
enormous  in  their  enormity. 

"  Pretty  hard  lines  that,"  continued  Duckby, 
seeing  that  he  had  secured  the  attention  and  respect 
of  the  company  ;  "  four  squeakers  carried  off  at  one 
swoop.  You'd  find  it  rather  hard  to  match  that 
in  the  way  of  unlooked-for  bad  luck." 

"  I  had  six  pullets  out  of  a  pen  of  seven  killed  by  a 
snake  yesterday  afternoon,"  said  Blenkinthrope,  in 
a  voice  which  he  hardly  recognized  as  his  own. 

"  By  a  snake  .?  "  came  in  excited  chorus. 

"  It  fascinated  them  with  its  deadly,  glittering 
84 


THE       SEVENTH       PULLET 

eyes,  one  after  the  other,  and  struck  them  down  while 
they  stood  helpless.  A  bedridden  neighbour,  who 
wasn't  able  to  call  for  assistance,  witnessed  it  all  from 
her  bedroom  window." 

"  Well,  I  never  ! "  broke  in  the  chorus,  with 
variations. 

"  The  interesting  part  of  it  is  about  the  seventh 
pullet,  the  one  that  didn't  get  killed,"  resumed  Blen- 
kinthrope,  slowly  Hghting  a  cigarette.  His  diffidence 
had  left  him,  and  he  was  beginning  to  realize  how 
safe  and  easy  depravity  can  seem  once  one  has  the 
courage  to  begin.  "  The  six  dead  birds  were  Min- 
orcas  ;  the  seventh  was  a  Houdan  with  a  mop  of 
feathers  all  over  its  eyes.  It  could  hardly  see  the  snake 
at  all,  so  of  course  it  wasn't  mesmerized  like  the 
others.  It  just  could  see  something  wriggling  on 
the  ground,  and  went  for  it  and  pecked  it  to  death." 

"  Well,  I'm  blessed  !  "  exclaimed  the  chorus. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  few  days  Blenkinthrope 
discovered  how  little  the  loss  of  one's  self-respect 
affects  one  when  one  has  gained  the  esteem  of  the 
world.  His  story  found  its  way  into  one  of  the 
poultry  papers,  and  was  copied  thence  into  a  daily 
news-sheet  as  a  matter  of  general  interest.  A  lady 
wrote  from  the  North  of  Scotland  recounting  a  similar 
episode  which  she  had  witnessed  as  occurring  be- 
tween a  stoat  and  a  blind  grouse.  Somehow  a  lie  seems 
so  much  less  reprehensible  when  one  can  call  it  a  lee. 

For  awhile  the  adapter  of  the  Seventh  Pullet 
story  enjoyed  to  the  full  his  altered  standing  as  a 
person  of  consequence,  one  who  had  had  some  share 
in  the  strange  events  of  his  times.  Then  he  was  thrust 
once  again  into  the  cold  grey  background  by  the 
sudden  blossoming  into  importance  of  Smith-Paddon, 
85 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

a  daily  fellow-traveller,  whose  little  girl  had  been 
knocked  down  and  nearly  hurt  by  a  car  belonging  to 
a  musical-comedy  actress.  The  actress  was  not  in 
the  car  at  the  time,  but  she  was  in  numerous  photo- 
graphs which  appeared  in  the  illustrated  papers  of 
Zoto  Dobreen  inquiring  after  the  well-being  of 
Maisie,  daughter  of  Edmund  Smith-Paddon,  Esq. 
With  this  new  human  interest  to  absorb  them  the 
travelling  companions  were  almost  rude  when  Blenkin- 
thrope  tried  to  explain  his  contrivance  for  keeping 
vipers  and  peregrine  falcons  out  of  his  chicken-run. 

Gorworth,  to  whom  he  unburdened  himself  in 
private,  gave  him  the  same  counsel  as  theretofore. 

"  Invent  something." 

"  Yes,  but  what  ?  " 

The  ready  affirmative  coupled  with  the  question  be- 
trayed a  significant  shifting  of  the  ethical  standpoint. 

It  was  a  few  days  later  that  Blenkinthrope  revealed 
a  chapter  of  family  history  to  the  customary  gathering 
in  the  railway  carriage. 

*'  Curious  thing  happened  to  my  aunt,  the  one 
who  lives  in  Paris,"  he  began.  He  had  several 
aunts,  but  they  were  all  geographically  distributed 
over  Greater  London. 

"  She  was  sitting  on  a  seat  in  the  Bois  the  other  after- 
noon, after  lunching  at  the  Roumanian  Legation." 

Whatever  the  story  gained  in  picturesqueness 
for  the  dragging-in  of  diplomatic  "  atmosphere," 
it  ceased  from  that  moment  to  command  any  accept- 
ance as  a  record  of  current  events.  Gorworth  had 
warned  his  neophyte  that  this  would  be  the  case, 
but  the  traditional  enthusiasm  of  the  neophyte  had 
triumphed  over  discretion. 

"She  was  feeling  rather  drowsy,  the  effect  prob- 
86 


THE      SEVENTH       PULLET 

ably  of  the  champagne,  which  she's  not  in  the  habit 
of  taking  in  the  middle  of  the  day." 

A  subdued  murmur  of  admiration  went  round  the 
company.  Blenkinthrope's  aunts  were  not  used  to 
taking  champagne  in  the  middle  of  the  year,  regarding 
it  exclusively  as  a  Christmas  and  New  Year  accessory. 

"  Presently  a  rather  portly  gentleman  passed  by 
her  seat  and  paused  an  instant  to  light  a  cigar.  At 
that  moment  a  youngish  man  came  up  behind  him, 
drew  the  blade  from  a  swordstick,  and  stabbed  him 
half  a  dozen  times  through  and  through.  '  Scoun- 
drel,' he  cried  to  his  victim,  'you  do  not  know  me. 
My  name  is  Henri  Leturc'  The  elder  man  wiped 
away  some  of  the  blood  that  was  spattering  his  clothes, 
turned  to  his  assailant,  and  said  :  '  And  since  when 
has  an  attempted  assassination  been  considered  an 
introduction  ? '  Then  he  finished  lighting  his  cigar 
and  walked  away.  My  aunt  had  intended  screaming 
for  the  police,  but  seeing  the  indifference  with  which 
the  principal  in  the  affair  treated  the  matter  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  an  impertinence  on  her  part  to  inter- 
fere. Of  course  I  need  hardly  say  she  put  the  whole 
thing  down  to  the  effects  of  a  warm,  drowsy  after- 
noon and  the  Legation  champagne.  Now  comes 
the  astonishing  part  of  my  story.  A  fortnight  later 
a  bank  manager  was  stabbed  to  death  with  a  sword- 
stick  in  that  very  part  of  the  Bois.  His  assassin 
was  the  son  of  a  charwoman  formerly  working  at 
the  bank,  who  had  been  dismissed  from  her  job  by 
the  manager  on  account  of  chronic  intemperance 
His  name  was  Henri  Leturc." 

From  that  moment  Blenkinthrope  was  tacitly 
accepted  as  the  Munchausen  of  the  party.  No 
effort  was  spared  to  draw  him  out  from  day  to  day 

87 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

in  the  exercise  of  testing  their  powers  of  credulity, 
and  Blenkinthrope,  in  the  false  security  of  an  assured 
and  receptive  audience,  waxed  industrious  and  ingenious 
in  supplying  the  demand  for  marvels.  Duckby's satirical 
story  of  a  tame  otter  that  had  a  tank  in  the  garden 
to  swim  in,  and  whined  restlessly  whenever  the  water- 
rate  was  overdue,  was  scarcely  an  unfair  parody  of 
some  of  Blenkinthrope's  wilder  efforts.  And  then 
one  day  came  Nemesis. 

Returning  to  his  villa  one  evening  Blenkinthrope 
found  his  wife  sitting  in  front  of  a  pack  of  cards, 
which  she  was  scrutinizing  with  unusual  concentration. 

"  The  same  old  patience-game .? "  he  asked  carelessly. 

"  No,  dear  ;  this  is  the  Death's  Head  patience, 
the  most  difficult  of  them  all.  I've  never  got  it 
to  work  out,  and  somehow  I  should  be  rather  fright- 
ened if  I  did.  Mother  only  got  it  out  once  in  her 
life  ;  she  was  afraid  of  it,  too.  Her  great-aunt  had 
done  it  once  and  fallen  dead  from  excitement  the 
next  moment,  and  mother  always  had  a  feeling  that 
she  would  die  if  she  ever  got  it  out.  She  died  the  same 
night  that  she  did  it.  She  was  in  bad  health  at  the 
time,  certainly,  but  it  was  a  strange  coincidence." 

"  Don't  do  it  if  it  frightens  you,"  was  Blenkin- 
thrope's practical  comment  as  he  left  the  room.  A 
few  minutes  later  his  wife  called  to  him. 

"John,  it  gave  me  such  a  turn,  I  nearly  got  it  out. 
Only  the  five  of  diamonds  held  me  up  at  the  end. 
I  really  thought  I'd  done  it." 

"  Why,  you  can  do  it,"  said  Blenkinthrope,  who  had 
come  back  to  the  room  ;  "if  you  shift  the  eight  of  clubs  on 
to  that  open  nine  the  five  can  be  moved  on  to  the  six." 

His  wife  made  the  suggested  move  with  hasty, 
trembling    fingers,   and    piled    the   outstanding    cards 

88 


THE      SEVENTH       PULLET 

on    to    their    respective   packs.     Then   she    followed 
the  example  of  her  mother  and  great-grand-aunt. 

Blenkinthrope  had  been  genuinely  fond  of  his 
wife,  but  in  the  midst  of  his  bereavement  one  domi- 
nant thought  obtruded  itself.  Something  sensa- 
tional and  real  had  at  last  come  into  his  life  ;  no 
longer  was  it  a  grey,  colourless  record.  The  head- 
lines which  might  appropriately  describe  his  domestic 
tragedy  kept  shaping  themselves  in  his  brain.  "  In- 
herited presentiment  comes  true."  "  The  Death's 
Head  patience  :  Card-game  that  justified  its  sinister 
name  in  three  generations."  He  wrote  out  a  full 
story  of  the  fatal  occurrence  for  the  Essex  Vedette^  the 
editor  of  which  was  a  friend  of  his,  and  to  another 
friend  he  gave  a  condensed  account,  to  be  taken  up 
to  the  office  of  one  of  the  halfpenny  dailies.  But  in 
both  cases  his  reputation  as  a  romancer  stood  fatally 
in  the  way  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  ambitions.  "  Not 
the  right  thing  to  be  Munchausening  in  a  time  of 
sorrow "  agreed  his  friends  among  themselves,  and 
a  brief  note  of  regret  at  the  "  sudden  death  of  the 
wife  of  our  respected  neighbour,  Mr.  John  Blenkin- 
thrope, from  heart  failure,"  appearing  in  the  news 
column  of  the  local  paper  was  the  forlorn  outcome  of 
his  visions  of  widespread  publicity. 

Blenkinthrope  shrank  from  the  society  of  his 
erstwhile  travelling  companions  and  took  to  travel- 
ling townwards  by  an  earlier  train.  He  sometimes 
tries  to  enlist  the  sympathy  and  attention  of  a  chance 
acquaintance  in  details  of  the  whistling  prowess  of 
his  best  canary  or  the  dimensions  of  his  largest  beet- 
root ;  he  scarcely  recognizes  himself  as  the  man  who 
was  once  spoken  about  and  pointed  out  as  the  owner 
of  the  Seventh  Pullet. 

89 


THE       BLIND       SPOT 

*'  'VT'OU'VE    just    come    back    from    Adelaide's 

X  funeral,  haven't  you  ?  "  said  Sir  Lulworth 
to  his  nephew  ;  "  I  suppose  it  was  very  like  most 
other  funerals  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  at  lunch,"  said  Egbert. 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  wouldn't  be 
respectful  either  to  your  great-aunt's  memory  or 
to  the  lunch.  We  begin  with  Spanish  olives,  then  a 
borshch,  then  more  olives  and  a  bird  of  some  kind, 
and  a  rather  enticing  Rhenish  wine,  not  at  all  expen- 
sive as  wines  go  in  this  country,  but  still  quite  laud- 
able in  its  way.  Now  there's  absolutely  nothing  in 
that  menu  that  harmonizes  in  the  least  with  the  sub- 
ject of  your  great-aunt  Adelaide  or  her  funeral.  She 
was  a  charming  woman,  and  quite  as  intelligent  as  she 
had  any  need  to  be,  but  somehow  she  always  reminded 
me  of  an  English  cook's  idea  of  a  Madras  curry." 

"  She  used  to  say  you  were  frivolous,"  said  Eg- 
bert. Something  in  his  tone  suggested  that  he  rather 
endorsed  the  verdict. 

"  I  believe  I  once  considerably  scandalized  her  by 
declaring  that  clear  soup  was  a  more  important  factor 
in  life  than  a  clear  conscience.  She  had  very  little 
sense  of  proportion.  By  the  way,  she  made  you 
her  principal  heir,  didn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Egbert,  "  and  executor  as  well.     It's  in 
that  connection  that  I  particularly  want  to  speak  to  you.'* 
90 


THE      BLIND       SPOT 

"  Business  is  not  my  strong  point  at  any  time,** 
said  Sir  Lulworth,  "and  certainly  not  when  we're 
on  the  immediate  threshold  of  lunch." 

"  It  isn't  exactly  business,"  explained  Egbert, 
as  he  followed  his  uncle  into  the  dining-room.  "  It's 
something  rather  serious.     Very  serious." 

"Then  we  can't  possibly  speak  about  it  now,'* 
said  Sir  Lulworth  ;  "  no  one  could  talk  seriously, 
during  a  borshch.  A  beautifully  constructed  borshch, 
such  as  you  are  going  to  experience  presently,  ought 
not  only  to  banish  conversation  but  almost  to  anni- 
hilate thought.  Later  on,  when  we  arrive  at  the 
second  stage  of  olives,  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  dis- 
cuss that  new  book  on  Borrow,  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
the  present  situation  in  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Luxem- 
burg. But  I  absolutely  decline  to  talk  anything 
approaching  business  till  we  have  finished  with  the 
bird." 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  meal  Egbert  sat  in  an 
abstracted  silence,  the  silence  of  a  man  whose  mind 
is  focussed  on  one  topic.  When  the  coffee  stage  had 
been  reached  he  launched  himself  suddenly  athwart 
his  uncle's  reminiscences  of  the  Court  of  Luxemburg. 

"  I  think  I  told  you  that  great-aunt  Adelaide 
had  made  me  her  executor.  There  wasn't  very 
much  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  legal  matters,  but  I 
had  to  go  through  her  papers." 

"  That  would  be  a  fairly  heavy  task  in  itself.  I 
should  imagine  there  were  reams  of  family  letters." 

"  Stacks  of  them,  and  most  of  them  highly  unin- 
teresting. There  was  one  packet,  however,  which 
I  thought  might  repay  a  careful  perusal.  It  was  a 
bundle  of  correspondence  from  her  brother  Peter." 

•'  The  Canon  of  tragic  memory,"  said  Lulworth, 

91 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Exactly,  of  tragic  memory,  as  you  say  ;  a  tragedy 
that  has  never  been  fathomed." 

"  Probably  the  simplest  explanation  was  the  correct 
one,"  said  Sir  Lulworth  j  "  he  slipped  on  the  stone 
staircase  and  fractured  his  skull  in  falling." 

Egbert  shook  his  head.  "  The  medical  evidence 
all  went  to  prove  that  the  blow  on  the  head  was 
struck  by  some  one  coming  up  behind  him.  A  wound 
caused  by  violent  contact  with  the  steps  could  not 
possibly  have  been  inflicted  at  that  angle  of  the  skull. 
They  experimented  with  a  dummy  figure  falling  in 
every  conceivable  position." 

"  But  the  motive  .?  "  exclaimed  Sir  Lulworth  j 
"  no  one  had  any  interest  in  doing  away  with  him, 
and  the  number  of  people  who  destroy  Canons  of  the 
Established  Church  for  the  mere  fun  of  killing  must 
be  extremely  limited.  Of  course  there  are  indivi- 
duals of  weak  mental  balance  who  do  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  they  seldom  conceal  their  handiwork ; 
they  are  more  generally  inclined  to  parade  it." 

"  His  cook  was  under  suspicion,"  said  Egbert 
shortly. 

"  I  know  he  was,"  said  Sir  Lulworth,  "  simply 
because  he  was  about  the  only  person  on  the  premises 
at  the  time  of  the  tragedy.  But  could  anything  be 
sillier  than  trying  to  fasten  a  charge  of  murder  on 
to  Sebastien  .?  He  had  nothing  to  gain,  in  fact,  a 
good  deal  to  lose,  from  the  death  of  his  employer. 
The  Canon  was  paying  him  quite  as  good  wages  as 
I  was  able  to  offer  him  when  I  took  him  over  into  my 
service,  I  have  since  raised  them  to  something  a 
little  more  in  accordance  with  his  real  worth,  but 
at  the  time  he  was  glad  to  find  a  new  place  without 
troubling  about  an  increase  of  wages.  People  were 
92 


THE       BLIND       SPOT 

fighting  rather  shy  of  him,  and  he  had  no  friends 
in  this  country.  No  ;  if  anyone  in  the  world  was 
interested  in  the  prolonged  life  and  unimpaired  diges- 
tion of  the  Canon  it  would  certainly  be  Sebastien." 

"  People  don't  always  weigh  the  consequences  of 
their  rash  acts,"  said  Egbert,  "  otherwise  there  would 
be  very  few  murders  committed.  Sebastien  is  a  man 
of  hot  temper." 

"  He  is  a  southerner,"  admitted  Sir  Lulworth  ; 
"  to  be  geographically  exact  I  believe  he  hails  from 
the  French  slopes  of  the  Pyrenees.  I  took  that  into 
consideration  when  he  nearly  killed  the  gardener's 
boy  the  other  day  for  bringing  him  a  spurious  sub- 
stitute for  sorrel.  One  must  always  make  allowances 
for  origin  and  locality  and  early  environment  ;  'Tell  me 
your  longitude  and  I'll  know  what  latitude  to  allow 
you,'  is  my  motto." 

"  There,  you  see,"  said  Egbert,  "  he  nearly  killed 
the  gardener's  boy." 

"My  dear  Egbert,  between  nearly  killing  a  gar- 
dener's boy  and  altogether  killing  a  Canon  there  is 
a  wide  difference.  No  doubt  you  have  often  felt 
a  temporary  desire  to  kill  a  gardener's  boy  ;  you  have 
never  given  way  to  it,  and  I  respect  you  for  your 
self-control.  But  I  don't  suppose  you  have  ever 
wanted  to  kill  an  octogenarian  Canon.  Besides,  as 
far  as  we  know,  there  had  never  been  any  quarrel 
or  disagreement  between  the  two  men.  The  evi- 
dence at  the  inquest  brought  that  out  very  clearly." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Egbert,  with  the  air  of  a  man  coming 
at  last  into  a  deferred  inheritance  of  conversational 
importance,  "  that  is  precisely  what  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  about." 

He  pushed  away  his  coffee  cup  and  drew  a  pocket- 
93 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

book  from  his  inner  breast-pocket.  From  the  depths 
of  the  pocket-book  he  produced  an  envelope,  and 
from  the  envelope  he  extracted  a  letter,  closely  written 
in  a  small,  neat  handwriting. 

"  One  of  the  Canon's  numerous  letters  to  Aunt 
Adelaide,"  he  explained,  "  written  a  few  days  before 
his  death.  Her  memory  was  already  failing  when 
she  received  it,  and  I  dare  say  she  forgot  the  contents 
as  soon  as  she  had  read  it  ;  otherwise,  in  the  light 
of  what  subsequently  happened,  we  should  have 
heard  something  of  this  letter  before  now.  If  it 
had  been  produced  at  the  inquest  I  fancy  it  would 
have  made  some  difference  in  the  course  of  affairs. 
The  evidence,  as  you  remarked  just  now,  choked 
off  suspicion  against  Sebastien  by  disclosing  an  utter 
absence  of  anything  that  could  be  considered  a  motive 
or  provocation  for  the  crime,  if  crime  there  was." 

"  Oh,  read  the  letter,"  said  Sir  Lulworth  impa- 
tiently. 

"  It's  a  long  rambling  affair,  like  most  of  his  letters 
in  his  later  years,"  said  Egbert.  "  I'll  read  the  part 
that  bears  immediately  on  the  mystery. 

"  '  I  very  much  fear  I  shall  have  to  get  rid  of 
Sebastien.  He  cooks  divinely,  but  he  has  the  temper 
of  a  fiend  or  an  anthropoid  ape,  and  I  am  really  in 
bodily  fear  of  him.  We  had  a  dispute  the  other 
day  as  to  the  correct  sort  of  lunch  to  be  served  on 
Ash  Wednesday,  and  I  got  so  irritated  and  annoyed 
at  his  conceit  and  obstinacy  that  at  last  I  threw  a  cup- 
ful of  coffee  in  his  face  and  called  him  at  the  same  time 
an  impudent  jackanapes.  Very  little  of  the  coffee 
went  actually  in  his  face,  but  I  have  never  seen  a 
human  being  show  such  deplorable  lack  of  self-control. 
I  laughed  at  the  threat  of  killing  me  that  he  spluttered 

94 


THE       BLIND       SPOT 

out  in  his  rage,  and  thought  the  whole  thing  would 
blow  over,  but  I  have  several  times  since  caught  him 
scowling  and  muttering  in  a  highly  unpleasant  fashion, 
and  lately  I  have  fancied  that  he  was  dogging  my 
footsteps  about  the  grounds,  particularly  when  I 
walk  of  an  evening  in  the  Italian  Garden.' 

"  It  was  on  the  steps  in  the  Italian  Garden  that 
the  body  was  found,"  commented  Egbert,  and  re- 
sumed reading. 

"  '  I  dare  say  the  danger  is  imaginary  ;  but  I  shall 
feel  more  at  ease  when  he  has  quitted  my  service.'  " 

Egbert  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  extract  ;  then,  as  his  uncle  made  no  remark, 
he  added  :  "If  lack  of  motive  was  the  only  factor 
that  saved  Sebastien  from  prosecution  I  fancy  this 
letter  will  put  a  different  complexion  on  matters." 

"  Have  you  shown  it  to  anyone  else  ?  "  asked  Sir 
Lulworth,  reaching  out  his  hand  for  the  incriminat- 
ing piece  of  paper. 

"  No,"  said  Egbert,  handing  it  across  the  table, 
"  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  about  it  first.  Heavens, 
what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

Egbert's  voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream.  Sir  Lul- 
worth had  flung  the  paper  well  and  truly  into  the 
glowing  centre  of  the  grate.  The  small,  neat  hand- 
writing shrivelled  into  black  flaky  nothingness. 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  do  that  for  ? "  gasped 
Egbert.  "  That  letter  was  our  one  piece  of  evidence 
to  connect  Sebastien  with  the  crime." 

"  That  is  why  I  destroyed  it,"  said  Sir  Lulworth. 

"  But  why  should  you  want  to  shield  him  ?  '* 
cried  Egbert  ;    "  the  man  is  a  common  murderer.'* 

"  A  common  murderer,  possibly,  but  a  very  un- 
common cook." 

95 


DUSK 

NORMAN  GORTSBY  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
Park,  with  his  back  to  a  strip  of  bush-planted 
sward,  fenced  by  the  park  railings,  and  the  Row  front- 
ing him  across  a  wide  stretch  of  carriage  drive.  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  with  its  rattle  and  hoot  of  traffic,  lay 
immediately  to  his  right.  It  was  some  thirty  minutes 
past  six  on  an  early  March  evening,  and  dusk  had 
fallen  heavily  over  the  scene,  dusk  mitigated  by  some 
faint  moonlight  and  many  street  lamps.  There  was 
a  wide  emptiness  over  road  and  side  walk,  and  yet 
there  were  many  unconsidered  figures  moving  silently 
through  the  half-light  or  dotted  unobtrusively  on 
bench  and  chair,  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  shadowed  gloom  in  which  they  sat. 

The  scene  pleased  Gortsby  and  harmonized  with 
his  present  mood.  Dusk,  to  his  mind,  was  the  hour 
of  the  defeated.  Men  and  women,  who  had  fought 
and  lost,  who  hid  their  fallen  fortunes  and  dead  hopes 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  scrutiny  of  the  curious, 
came  forth  in  this  hour  of  gloaming,  when  their  shabby 
clothes  and  bowed  shoulders  and  unhappy  eyes  might 
pass  unnoticed,  or,  at  any  rate,  unrecognized. 

A  king  that  is  conquered  must  see  strange  looks. 
So  bitter  a  thing  is  the  heart  of  man. 

The  wanderers  in  the  dusk  did  not  choose  to  have 
strange  looks  fasten  on  them,  therefore  they  came 

96 


DUSK 

out  in  this  bat-fashion,  taking  their  pleasure  sadly 
in  a  pleasure-ground  that  had  emptied  of  its  rightful 
occupants.  Beyond  the  sheltering  screen  of  bushes 
and  palings  came  a  realm  of  brilliant  lights  and  noisy, 
rushing  traffic.  A  blazing,  many-tiered  stretch  of 
windows  shone  through  the  dusk  and  almost  dis- 
persed it,  marking  the  haunts  of  those  other  people, 
who  held  their  own  in  life's  struggle,  or  at  any  rate 
had  not  had  to  admit  failure.  So  Gortsby's  imagina- 
tion pictured  things  as  he  sat  on  his  bench  in  the 
almost  deserted  walk.  He  was  in  the  mood  to  count 
himself  among  the  defeated.  Money  troubles  did 
not  press  on  him  ;  had  he  so  wished  he  could  have 
strolled  into  the  thoroughfares  of  light  and  noise, 
and  taken  his  place  among  the  jostling  ranks  of  those 
who  enjoyed  prosperity  or  struggled  for  it.  He  had 
failed  in  a  more  subtle  ambition,  and  for  the  moment 
he  was  heart  sore  and  disillusionized,  and  not  disin- 
clined to  take  a  certain  cynical  pleasure  in  observing 
and  labelling  his  fellow  wanderers  as  they  went 
their  ways  in  the  dark  stretches  between  the  lamp- 
lights. 

On  the  bench  by  his  side  sat  an  elderly  gentleman 
with  a  drooping  air  of  defiance  that  was  probably 
the  remaining  vestige  of  self-respect  in  an  individual 
who  had  ceased  to  defy  successfully  anybody  or  any- 
thing. His  clothes  could  scarcely  be  called  shabby, 
at  least  they  passed  muster  in  the  half-light,  but  one's 
imagination  could  not  have  pictured  the  wearer  em- 
barking on  the  purchase  of  a  half-crown  box  of 
chocolates  or  laying  out  ninepence  on  a  carnation 
buttonhole.  He  belonged  unmistakably  to  that  for- 
lorn orchestra  to  whose  piping  no  one  dances  ;  he 
was  one  of  the  world's  lamenters  who  induces  no  re- 
97 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

sponsive  weeping.  As  he  rose  to  go  Gortsby  imagined 
him  returning  to  a  home  circle  where  he  was  snubbed 
and  of  no  account,  or  to  some  bleak  lodging  where  his 
ability  to  pay  a  weekly  bill  was  the  beginning  and  end 
of  the  interest  he  inspired.  His  retreating  figure 
vanished  slowly  into  the  shadows,  and  his  place  on 
the  bench  was  taken  almost  immediately  by  a  young 
man,  fairly  well  dressed  but  scarcely  more  cheerful  of 
mien  than  his  predecessor.  As  if  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  the  world  went  badly  with  him  the  new-comer 
unburdened  himself  of  an  angry  and  very  audible 
expletive  as  he  flung  himself  into  the  seat. 

"  You  don't  seem  in  a  very  good  temper,"  said 
Gortsby,  judging  that  he  was  expected  to  take  due 
notive  of  the  demonstration. 

The  young  man  turned  to  him  with  a  look  of  dis- 
arming frankness  which  put  him  instantly  on  his 
guard. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  in  a  good  temper  if  you  were 
in  the  fix  I'm  in,"  he  said  ;  "  I've  done  the  silliest 
thing  I've  ever  done  in  my  life." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Gortsby  dispassionately. 

"  Came  up  this  afternoon,  meaning  to  stay  at  the 
Patagonian  Hotel  in  Berkshire  Square, '  continued 
the  young  man  ;  "  when  I  got  there  I  found  it  had 
been  pulled  down  some  weeks  ago  and  a  cinema 
theatre  run  up  on  the  site.  The  taxi  driver  recom- 
mended me  to  another  hotel  some  way  off  and  I 
went  there.  I  just  sent  a  letter  to  my  people,  giving 
them  the  address,  and  then  I  went  out  to  buy  some 
soap — I'd  forgotten  to  pack  any  and  I  hate  using  hotel 
soap.  Then  I  strolled  about  a  bit,  had  a  drink  at  a 
bar  and  looked  at  the  shops,  and  when  I  came  to  turn 
my  steps  back  to  the  hotel  I  suddenly  realized  that  I 
98 


DUSK 

didn't  remember  its  name  or  even  what  street  it  was 
in.  There's  a  nice  predicament  for  a  fellow  who  hasn't 
any  friends  or  connections  in  London  !  Of  course 
I  can  wire  to  my  people  for  the  address,  but  they  won't 
have  got  my  letter  till  to  morrow  ;  meantime  I'm  with- 
out any  money,  came  out  with  about  a  shilling  on  me, 
which  went  in  buying  the  soap  and  getting  the  drink, 
and  here  I  am,  wandering  about  with  twopence  in 
my  pocket  and  nowhere  to  go  for  the  night." 

There  was  an  eloquent  pause  after  the  story  had 
been  told.  "  I  suppose  you  think  I've  spun  you  rather 
an  impossible  yarn,"  said  the  young  man  presently, 
with  a  suggestion  of  resentment  in  his  voice. 

"Not  at  all  impossible,"  said  Gortsby  judicially; 
"  I  remember  doing  exactly  the  same  thing  once  in 
a  foreign  capital,  and  on  that  occasion  there  were  two 
of  us,  which  made  it  more  remarkable.  Luckily  we 
remembered  that  the  hotel  was  on  a  sort  of  canal, 
and  when  we  struck  the  canal  we  were  able  to  find 
our  way  back  to  the  hotel." 

The  youth  brightened  at  the  reminiscence.  "  In 
a  foreign  city  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much,"  he  said  j 
"  one  could  go  to  one's  Consul  and  get  the  requisite 
help  from  him.  Here  in  one's  own  land  one  is  far 
more  derelict  if  one  gets  into  a  fix.  Unless  I  can 
find  some  decent  chap  to  swallow  my  story  and  lend 
me  some  money  I  seem  likely  to  spend  the  night  on 
the  Embankment.  I'm  glad,  anyhow,  that  you  don't 
think  the  story  outrageously  improbable." 

He  threw  a  good  deal  of  warmth  into  the  last  remark, 
as  though  perhaps  to  indicate  his  hope  that  Gortsby 
did  not  fall  far  short  of  the  requisite  decency. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Gortsby  slowly,  "  the  weak  point 
of  your  story  is  that  you  can't  produce  the  soap." 
99 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

The  young  man  sat  forward  hurriedly,  felt  rapidly 
in  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat,  and  then  jumped  to  his 
feet. 

*'  I  must  have  lost  it,"  he  muttered  angrily. 

"  To  lose  an  hotel  and  a  cake  of  soap  on  one  after- 
noon suggests  wilful  carelessness,"  said  Gortsby,  but 
the  young  man  scarcely  waited  to  hear  the  end  of  the 
remark.  He  flitted  away  down  the  path,  his  head  held 
high,  with  an  air  of  somewhat  jaded  jauntiness. 

"  It  was  a  pity,"  mused  Gortsby  ;  "  the  going  out 
to  get  one's  own  soap  was  the  one  convincing  touch 
in  the  whole  story,  and  yet  it  was  just  that  little 
detail  that  brought  him  to  grief  If  he  had  had  the 
brilliant  forethought  to  provide  himself  with  a  cake 
of  soap,  wrapped  and  sealed  with  all  the  solicitude  of 
the  chemist's  counter,  he  would  have  been  a  genius 
in  his  particular  line.  In  his  particular  line  genius 
certainly  consists  of  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking 
precautions." 

With  that  reflection  Gortsby  rose  to  go  ;  as  he 
did  so  an  exclamation  of  concern  escaped  him.  Lying 
on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  the  bench  was  a  small 
oval  packet,  wrapped  and  sealed  with  the  solicitude  of 
a  chemist's  counter.  It  could  be  nothing  else  but  a 
cake  of  soap,  and  it  had  evidently  fallen  out  of  the 
youth's  overcoat  pocket  when  he  flung  himself  down 
on  the  seat.  In  another  moment  Gortsby  was  scud- 
ding along  the  dusk-shrouded  path  in  anxious  quest 
for  a  youthful  figure  in  a  light  overcoat.  He  had 
nearly  given  up  the  search  when  he  caught  sight  of 
the  object  of  his  pursuit  standing  irresolutely  on  the 
border  of  the  carriage  drive,  evidently  uncertain 
whether  to  strike  across  the  Park  or  make  for  the 
bustling  pavements  of  Knightsbridge.  He  turned 
100 


DUSK 

round  sharply  with  an  air  of  defensive  hostility  when 
he  found  Gortsby  hailing  him. 

"  The  important  witness  to  the  genuineness  of 
your  story  has  turned  up,"  said  Gortsby,  holding  out 
the  cake  of  soap  ;  "  it  must  have  slid  out  of  your 
overcoat  pocket  when  you  sat  down  on  the  seat.  I 
saw  it  on  the  ground  after  you  left.  You  must  excuse 
my  disbelief,  but  appearances  were  really  rather  against 
you,  and  now,  as  I  appealed  to  the  testimony  of  the 
soap  I  think  I  ought  to  abide  by  its  verdict.  If  the 
loan  of  a  sovereign  is  any  good  to  you " 

The  young  man  hastily  removed  all  doubt  on  the 
subject  by  pocketing  the  coin. 

"  Here  is  my  card  with  my  address,"  continued 
Gortsby  ;  "  any  day  this  week  will  do  for  returning 
the  money,  and  here  is  the  soap — don't  lose  it  again  ; 
it's  been  a  good  friend  to  you." 

"  Lucky  thing  your  finding  it,"  said  the  youth, 
and  then,  with  a  catch  in  his  voice,  he  blurted  out  a 
word  or  two  of  thanks  and  fled  headlong  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Knightsbridge. 

"  Poor  boy,  he  as  nearly  as  possible  broke  down," 
said  Gortsby  to  himself  "  I  don't  wonder  either  j 
the  relief  from  his  quandary  must  have  been  acute. 
It's  a  lesson  to  me  not  to  be  too  clever  in  judging  by 
circumstances." 

As  Gortsby  retraced  his  steps  past  the  seat  where 
the  little  drama  had  taken  place  he  saw  an  elderly 
gentleman  poking  and  peering  beneath  it  and  on  all 
sides  of  it,  and  recognized  his  earlier  fellow  occupanL 

"  Have  you  lost  anything,  sir  ?  "  he  asked. 

**  Yes,  sir,  a  cake  of  soap." 


lOI 


A       TOUCH       OF      REALISM 

"  T    HOPE   you've   come    full    of  suggestions   for 

X.  Christmas,"  said  Lady  Blonze  to  her  latest 
arrived  guest  ;  "  the  old-fashioned  Christmas  and  the 
up-to-date  Christmas  are  both  so  played  out.  I  want 
to  have  something  really  original  this  year." 

"  I  was  staying  with  the  Mathesons  last  month," 
said  Blanche  Boveal  eagerly,  "  and  we  had  such  a 
good  idea.  Every  one  in  the  house-party  had  to  be 
a  character  and  behave  consistently  all  the  time,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  visit  one  had  to  guess  what  every 
one's  character  was.  The  one  who  was  voted  to  have 
acted  his  or  her  character  best  got  a  prize." 

"  It  sounds  amusing,"  said  Lady  Blonze. 

"  I  was  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,"  continued  Blanche  ; 
"  we  hadn't  got  to  keep  to  our  right  sexes.  I  kept 
getting  up  in  the  middle  of  a  meal  and  throwing  out 
food  to  the  birds  ;  you  see,  the  chief  thing  that  one 
remembers  of  St.  Francis  is  that  he  was  fond  of  the 
birds.  Every  one  was  so  stupid  about  it,  and  thought 
that  I  was  the  old  man  who  feeds  the  sparrows  in  the 
Tuileries  Gardens.  Then  Colonel  Pentley  was  the 
Jolly  Miller  on  the  banks  of  Dee." 

"  How  on  earth  did  he  do  that  ?  "  asked  Bertie  van 
Tahn. 

"  '  He  laughed  and  sang  from  morn  till  night,'  " 
explained  Blanche. 

"  How  dreadful  for  the  rest  of  you,"  said  Bertie  j 
102 


A       TOUCH       OF      REALISM 

"and    anyway  he    wasn't    on    the    banks    of   Dee.*^ 

"  One  had  to  imagine  that,"  said  Blanche. 

"  If  you  could  imagine  all  that  you  might  as  well 
imagine  cattle  on  the  further  bank  and  keep  on  calling 
them  home,  Mary-fashion,  across  the  sands  of  Dee. 
Or  you  might  change  the  river  to  the  Yarrow  and 
imagine  it  was  on  the  top  of  you,  and  say  you  were 
Willie,  or  whoever  it  was,  drowned  in  Yarrow." 

"  Of  course  it's  easy  to  make  fun  of  it,"  said  Blanche 
sharply,  "  but  it  was  extremely  interesting  and  amusing. 
The  prize  was  rather  a  fiasco,  though.  You  see,  Millie 
Matheson  said  her  character  was  Lady  Bountiful,  and 
as  she  was  our  hostess,  of  course  we  all  had  to  vote  that 
she  carried  out  her  character  better  than  anyone. 
Otherwise  I  ought  to  have  got  the  prize." 

"  It's  quite  an  idea  for  a  Christmas  party,"  said  Lady 
Blonze  ;    "  we  must  certainly  do  it  here." 

Sir  Nicholas  was  not  so  enthusiastic,  "  Are  you 
quite  sure,  my  dear,  that  you're  wise  in  doing  this 
thing  ?  "  he  said  to  his  wife  when  they  were  alone 
together.  "  It  might  do  very  well  at  the  Mathesons, 
where  they  had  rather  a  staid,  elderly  house-party, 
but  here  it  will  be  a  different  matter.  There  is  the 
Durmot  flapper,  for  instance,  who  simply  stops  at 
nothing,  and  you  know  what  Van  Tahn  is  like. 
Then  there  is  Cyril  Skatterly  ;  he  has  madness  on 
one  side  of  his  family  and  a  Hungarian  grandmother 
on  the  other." 

"  I  don't  see  what  they  could  do  that  would  matter," 
said  Lady  Blonze. 

"  It's  the  unknown  that  is  to  be  dreaded,"  said  Sir 
Nicholas.  "If  Skatterly  took  it  into  his  head  to 
represent  a  Bull  of  Bashan,  well,  I'd  rather  not  be  here." 

"  Of  course  we  shan't  allow  any  Bible  characters. 
103 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

Besides,  I  don't  know  what  the  Bulls  of  Bashan  really 
did  that  was  so  very  dreadful  ;  they  just  came  round 
and  gaped,  as  far  as  I  remember." 

"  My  dear,  you  don't  know  what  Skattcrly's  Hun- 
garian imagination  mightn't  read  into  the  part  ;  it 
would  be  small  satisfaction  to  say  to  him  afterwards  : 
*  You've  behaved  as  no  Bull  of  Bashan  would  have 
behaved.'  " 

"  Oh,  you're  an  alarmist,"  said  Lady  Blonze  } 
**  I  particularly  want  to  have  this  idea  carried  out.  It 
will  be  sure  to  be  talked  about  a  lot." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  said  Sir  Nicholas. 

Dinner  that  evening  was  not  a  particularly  lively 
affair  ;  the  strain  of  trying  to  impersonate  a  self- 
imposed  character  or  to  glean  hints  of  identity  from 
other  people's  conduct  acted  as  a  check  on  the  natural 
festivity  of  such  a  gathering.  There  was  a  general 
feeling  of  gratitude  and  acquiescence  when  good- 
natured  Rachel  Klammerstein  suggested  that  there 
should  be  an  hour  or  two's  respite  from  "  the  game  " 
while  they  all  listened  to  a  little  piano-playing  after 
dinner.  Rachel's  love  of  piano  music  was  not  indis- 
criminate, and  concentrated  itself  chiefly  on  selections 
rendered  by  her  idolized  offspring,  Moritz  and  Augusta, 
who,  to  do  them  justice,  plaj'ed  remarkably  well. 

The  Klammersteins  were  desen^edly  popular  as 
Christmas  guests  ;  they  gave  expensive  gifts  lavishly 
on  Christmas  Day  and  New  Year,  and  Mrs.  Klammer- 
stein had  already  dropped  hints  of  her  intention  to 
present  the  prize  for  the  best  enacted  character  in  the 
game  competition.  Every  one  had  brightened  at  this 
prospect ;  if  it  had  fallen  to  Lady  Blonze,  as  hostess, 
to  provide  the  prize,  she  would  have  considered  that  a 
104 


A       TOUCH       OF      REALISM 

little  souvenir  of  some  twenty  or  twenty-five  shillings' 
value  would  meet  the  case,  whereas  coming  from  a 
Klammerstein  source  it  would  certainly  run  to  several 
guineas. 

The  close  time  for  impersonation  efforts  came  to 
an  end  with  the  final  withdrawal  of  Mori tz  and  Augusta 
from  the  piano.  Blanche  Boveal  retired  early,  leaving 
the  room  in  a  series  of  laboured  leaps  that  she  hoped 
might  be  recognized  as  a  tolerable  imitation  of  Pavlova. 
Vera  Durmot,  the  sixteen-year-old  flapper,  expressed 
her  confident  opinion  that  the  performance  was 
intended  to  typify  Mark  Twain's  famous  jumping  frog, 
and  her  diagnosis  of  the  case  found  general  acceptance. 
Another  guest  to  set  an  example  of  early  bed-going 
was  Waldo  Plubley,  who  conducted  his  life  on  a 
minutely  regulated  system  of  time-tables  and  hygienic 
routine.  Waldo  was  a  plump,  indolent  young  man  of 
seven-and-twenty,  whose  mother  had  early  in  his  life 
decided  for  him  that  he  was  unusually  delicate,  and 
by  dint  of  much  coddling  and  home-keeping  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  physically  soft  and  mentally 
peevish.  Nine  hours'  unbroken  sleep,  preceded  by 
elaborate  breathing  exercises  and  other  hygienic 
ritual,  was  among  the  indispensable  regulations 
which  Waldo  im.posed  on  himself,  and  there  were 
innumerable  small  observances  which  he  exacted 
from  those  who  were  in  any  way  obliged  to  minister 
to  his  requirements  ;  a  special  teapot  for  the  decoction 
of  his  early  tea  was  always  solemnly  handed  over  to 
the  bedroom  staff  of  any  house  in  which  he  happened 
to  be  staying.  No  one  had  ever  quite  mastered  the 
mechanism  of  this  precious  vessel,  but  Bertie  van  Tahn 
was  responsible  for  the  legend  that  its  spout  had  to  be 
kept  facing  north  during  the  process  of  infusion. 
105 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

On  this  particular  night  the  irreducible  nine  hours 
were  severely  mutilated  by  the  sudden  and  by  no  means 
noiseless  incursion  of  a  pyjama-clad  figure  into  Waldo's 
room  at  an  hour  midway  between  midnight  and 
dawn. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  are  you  looking 
for  ?  "  asked  the  awakened  and  astonished  Waldo, 
slowly  recognizing  Van  Tahn,  who  appeared  to  be 
searching  hastily  for  somethng  he  had  lost. 

"  Looking  for  sheep,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Sheep  ?  "  exclaimed  Waldo. 

"  Yes,  sheep.  You  don't  suppose  I'm  looking  for 
giraffes,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  expect  to  find  either 
in  my  room,"  retorted  Waldo  furiously. 

"  I  can't  argue  the  matter  at  this  hour  of  the  night," 
said  Bertie,  and  began  hastily  rummaging  in  the  chest 
of  drawers.  Shirts  and  underwear  went  flying  on  to 
the  floor. 

"  There  are  no  sheep  here,  I  tell  you,"  screamed 
Waldo. 

"  I've  only  got  your  word  for  it,"  said  Bertie, 
whisking  most  of  the  bedclothes  on  to  the  floor  ; 
"  if  you  weren't  concealing  something  you  wouldn't 
be  so  agitated." 

Waldo  was  by  this  time  convinced  that  Van  Tahn 
was  raving  mad,  and  made  an  anxious  effort  to  humour 
him. 

"  Go  back  to  bed  like  a  dear  fellow,"  he  pleaded, 
"  and  your  sheep  will  turn  up  all  right  in  the  morning." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Bertie  gloomily,  "  without  their 
tails.  Nice  fool  I  shall  look  with  a  lot  of  Manx 
sheep." 

And  by  way  of  emphasizing  his  annoyance  at  the 
io6 


A       TOUCH       OF      REALISM 

prospect  he  sent  Waldo's  pillows  flying  to  the  top  of 
the  wardrobe. 

"  But  why  no  tails  ?  "  asked  Waldo,  whose  teeth 
were  chattering  with  fear  and  rage  and  lowered 
temperature. 

"  My  dear  boy,  have  you  never  heard  the  ballad 
of  Little  Bo-Peep  ? "  said  Bertie  with  a  chuckle. 
"  It's  my  character  in  the  Game,  you  know.  If  I 
didn't  go  hunting  about  for  my  lost  sheep  no  one  would 
be  able  to  guess  who  I  was  ;  and  now  go  to  sleepy 
weeps  like  a  good  child  or  I  shall  be  cross  with 
you." 

"  I  leave  you  to  imagine,"  wrote  Waldo  in  the 
course  of  a  long  letter  to  his  mother,  "  how  much 
sleep  I  was  able  to  recover  that  night,  and  you  know 
how  essential  nine  uninterrupted  hours  of  slumber 
are  to  my  health." 

On  the  other  hand  he  was  able  to  devote  some 
wakeful  hours  to  exercises  in  breathing  wrath  and  fury 
against  Bertie  van  Tahn. 

Breakfast  at  Blonzecourt  was  a  scattered  meal,  on 
the  "  come  when  you  please  "  principle,  but  the  house- 
party  was  supposed  to  gather  in  full  strength  at  lunch. 
On  the  day  after  the  "  Game  "  had  been  started  there 
were,  however,  some  notable  absentees.  Waldo 
Plubley,  for  instance,  was  reported  to  be  nursing  a  head- 
ache. A  large  breakfast  and  an  "  A. B.C."  had  been 
taken  up  to  his  room,  but  he  had  made  no  appearance 
in  the  flesh. 

"  I  expect  he's  playing  up  to  some  character,"  said 
Vera  Durmot  ;  "  isn't  there  a  thing  of  Moliere's, 
*  Le  Malade  Irnaginaire  '  ?      I  expect  he's  that." 

Eight  or  nine  lists  came  out,  and  were  duly  pencilled 
with  the  suggestion. 

107 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  And  where  are  die  Klammersteins  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Blonze  ;    "  they're  usually  so  punctual." 

"  Another  character  pose,  perhaps,"  said  Bertie  van 
Tahn  ;   "  '  the  Lost  Ten  Tribes.'  " 

"  But  there  are  only  three  of  them.  Besides,  they'll 
want  their  lunch.  Hasn't  anyone  seen  anything  of 
them  .?  " 

"  Didn't  you  take  them  out  in  your  car  ?  "  asked 
Blanche  Boveal,  addressing  herself  to  Cyril  Skatterly. 

"  Yes,  took  them  out  to  Slogberry  Moor  imme- 
diately after  breakfast.      Miss  Durmot  came  too," 

"  I  saw  you  and  Vera  come  back,"  said  Lady 
Blonze,  "  but  I  didn't  see  the  Klammersteins.  Did 
you  put  them  down  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Skatterly  shortly. 

"  But  where  are  they  ?  Where  did  you  leave 
them  ?  " 

"  We  left  them  on  Slogberry  Moor,"  said  Vera 
calmly. 

"  On  Slogberry  Moor  ?  Why,  it's  more  than  thirty 
miles  away  !      How  are  they  going  to  get  back  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  stop  to  consider  that,"  s.iid  Skatterly  ; 
"  we  asked  them  to  get  out  for  a  momen:,  on  the 
pretence  that  the  car  had  stuck,  and  tlien  we  dashed 
oflF  full  speed  and  left  them  there." 

"  But  how  dare  you  do  such  a  thing  ?  It's  most 
inhuman  !     Why,  it's  been  snowing  for  the  last  hour." 

"  I  expect  there'll  be  a  cottage  or  farmhouse  some- 
where if  they  walk  a  mile  or  two." 

"  But  why  on  earth  have  you  done  it  ?  " 

The  question  came  in  a  chorus  of  indignant  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  Thai  would  be  telling  what  our  characters  are 
meant  to  be,"  said  Vera. 

io8 


A       TOUCH       OF      REALISM 

**  Didn't  I  warn  you  ?  "  said  Sir  Nicholas  tragically 
to  his  wife. 

*'  It's  something  to  do  with  Spanish  history  ;  we 
don't  mind  giving  you  that  clue,"  said  Skatterly^ 
helping  himself  cheerfully  to  salad,  and  then  Bertie 
van  Tahn  broke  forth  into  peals  of  joyous  laughter. 

"  I've  got  it  !  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  deporting 
the  Jews  !  Oh,  lovely  !  Those  two  have  certainly 
won  the  prize  ;  we  shan't  get  anything  to  beat  that 
for  thoroughness." 

Lady  Blonze's  Christmas  party  was  talked  about 
and  written  about  to  an  extent  that  she  had  not  antici- 
pated in  her  most  ambitious  moments.  The  letters 
from  Waldo's  mother  would  alone  have  made  it 
memorable. 


10^ 


COUSIN       TERESA 

BASSET  HARROWCLUFF  returned  to  the 
home  of  his  fathers,  after  an  absence  of  four 
years,  distinctly  well  pleased  with  himself.  He  was 
only  thirty-one,  but  he  had  put  in  some  useful  service 
In  an  out-of-the-way,  though  not  unimportant,  corner 
of  the  world.  He  had  quieted  a  province,  kept  open 
a  trade  route,  enforced  the  tradition  of  respect  which 
is  worth  the  ransom  of  many  kings  in  out-of-the-way 
regions,  and  done  the  whole  business  on  rather  less 
expenditure  than  would  be  requisite  for  organizing  a 
charity  in  the  home  country.  In  Whitehall  and 
places  where  they  think,  they  doubtless  thought  well 
of  him.  It  was  not  inconceivable,  his  father  allowed 
himself  to  imagine,  that  Basset's  name  might  figure  in 
the  next  list  of  Honours. 

Basset  was  inclined  to  be  rather  contemptuous  of 
his  half-brother,  Lucas,  whom  he  found  feverishly 
engrossed  in  the  same  medley  of  elaborate  futilities 
that  had  claimed  his  whole  time  and  energies,  such 
as  they  were,  four  years  ago,  and  almost  as  far  back 
before  that  as  he  could  remember.  It  was  the  con- 
tempt of  the  man  of  action  for  the  man  of  activities, 
and  it  was  probably  reciprocated.  Lucas  was  an 
over-well  nourished  individual,  some  nine  years 
Basset's  senior,  with  a  colouring  that  would  have  been 
accepted  as  a  sign  of  intensive  culture  in  an  asparagus, 
but  probably  meant  in  this  case  mere  abstention  from 
IIO 


COUSIN       TERESA 

exercise.  His  hair  and  forehead  furnished  a  recessional 
note  in  a  personality  that  was  in  all  other  respects 
obtrusive  and  assertive.  There  was  certainly  no 
Semitic  blood  in  Lucas's  parentage,  but  his  appearance 
contrived  to  convey  at  least  a  suggestion  of  Jewish 
extraction.  Clovis  Sangrail,  who  knew  most  of  his 
associates  by  sight,  said  it  was  undoubtedly  a  case  of 
protective  mimicry. 

Two  days  after  Basset's  return,  Lucas  frisked  in  to 
lunch  in  a  state  of  twittering  excitement  that  could 
not  be  restrained  even  for  the  immediate  consideration 
of  soup,  but  had  to  be  verbally  discharged  in  spluttering 
competition  with  mouthfuls  of  vermicelli. 

"  I've  got  hold  of  an  idea  for  something  immense," 
he  babbled,  "  something  that  is  simply  It." 

Basset  gave  a  short  laugh  that  would  have  done 
equally  well  as  a  snort,  if  one  had  wanted  to  make 
the  exchange.  His  half-brother  was  in  the  habit  of 
discovering  futilities  that  were  "  simply  It "  at 
frequently  recurring  intervals.  The  discovery  gener- 
ally meant  that  he  flew  up  to  town,  preceded  by 
glowingly-worded  telegrams,  to  see  some  one  con- 
nected with  the  stage  or  the  publishing  world,  got 
together  one  or  two  momentous  luncheon  parties, 
flitted  in  and  out  of  "  Gambrinus  "  for  one  or  two 
evenings,  and  returned  home  with  an  air  of  subdued 
importance  and  the  asparagus  tint  slightly  intensified. 
The  great  idea  was  generally  forgotten  a  few  weeks 
later  in  the  excitement  of  some  new  discovery. 

"  The  inspiration  came  to  me  whilst  I  was  dress- 
ing," announced  Lucas  ;  "  it  will  be  the  thing  in  the 
next  music-hall  revue.  All  London  will  go  mad  over 
it.  It's  just  a  couplet ;  of  course  there  will  be  other 
words,  but  they  won't  matter.     Listen  : 

III  E 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

Cousin  Teresa  takes  out  Ca??nr, 
Fido,  Jock,  and  the  big  borzoi. 

A  lilting,  catchy  sort  of  refrain,  you  see,  and  big-drum 
business  on  the  two  syllables  of  bor-zoi.  It's  immense. 
And  I've  thought  out  all  the  business  of  it  ;  the 
singer  will  sing  the  first  verse  alone,  then  during  the 
second  verse  Cousin  Teresa  will  walk  through,  followed 
by  four  wooden  dogs  on  wheels  ;  Caesar  will  be  an 
Irish  terrier,  Fido  a  black  poodle,  Jock  a  fox-terrier, 
and  the  borzoi,  of  course,  will  be  a  borzoi.  During 
the  third  verse  Cousin  Teresa  v/ill  come  on  alone,  and 
the  dogs  will  be  drawn  across  by  themselves  from  the 
opposite  wing  ;  then  Cousin  Teresa  will  catch  on  to 
the  singer  and  go  ofF-stage  in  one  direction,  while  dogs' 
procession  goes  off  in  the  other,  crossing  en  route ^ 
which  is  always  very  effective.  There'll  be  a  lot  of 
applause  there,  and  for  the  fourth  verse  Cousin  Teresa 
will  come  on  in  sables  and  the  dogs  will  all  have  coats 
on.  Then  I've  got  a  great  idea  for  the  fifth  verse  ; 
each  of  the  dogs  will  be  led  on  by  a  Nut,  and  Cousin 
Teresa  will  come  on  from  the  opposite  side,  crossing 
en  route^  always  effective,  and  then  she  turns  round 
and  leads  the  whole  lot  of  them  off  on  a  string,  and 
all  the  time  every  one  singing  like  mad  : 

Cousin  Teresa  takes  out  Cssar, 
Fido,  Jock,  and  the  big  borzoi, 

Tum-Tum  !  Drum  business  on  the  two  last  syllables. 
I'm  so  excited,  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink  to-night.  I'm 
off  to-morrow  by  the  ten-fifteen.  I've  wired  to 
Hermanova  to  lunch  with  me." 

If  any  of  the  rest  of  the  family  felt  any  excitement 
over  the  creation  of  Cousin  Teresa,  they  were  signally 
successful  in  concealing  the  fact. 
112 


COUSIN       TERESA 

"  Poor  Lucas  does  take  his  silly  little  ideas  seriously," 
said  Colonel  Harrowcluff  afterwards  in  the  smoking- 
room. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  younger  son,  in  a  slightly  less 
tolerant  tone,  "  in  a  day  or  two  he'll  come  back  and 
tell  us  that  his  sensational  masterpiece  is  above  the 
heads  of  the  public,  and  in  about  three  weeks'  time 
he'll  be  wild  with  enthusiasm  over  a  scheme  to  drama- 
tize the  poems  of  Herrick  or  something  equally 
promising." 

And  then  an  extraordinary  thing  befell.  In 
defiance  of  all  precedent  Lucas's  glowing  anticipations 
were  justified  and  endorsed  by  the  course  of  events. 
If  Cousin  Teresa  was  above  the  heads  of  the  public, 
the  public  heroically  adapted  itself  to  her  altitude. 
Introduced  as  an  experiment  at  a  dull  moment  in  a 
new  revue^  the  success  of  the  item  was  unmistakable  ; 
the  calls  were  so  insistent  and  uproarious  that  even 
Lucas's  ample  devisings  of  additional  "  business " 
scarcely  sufficed  to  keep  pace  with  the  demand. 
Packed  houses  on  successive  evenings  confirmed  the 
verdict  of  the  first  night  audience,  stalls  and  boxes 
filled  significantly  just  before  the  turn  came  on,  and 
emptied  significantly  after  the  last  encore  had  been 
given.  The  manager  tearfully  acknowledged  that 
Cousin  Teresa  was  It.  Stage  hands  and  supers  and 
programme  sellers  acknowledged  it  to  one  another 
without  the  least  reservation.  The  name  of  the  revue 
dwindled  to  secondary  importance,  and  vast  letters  of 
electric  blue  blazoned  the  words  "  Cousin  Teresa " 
from  the  front  of  the  great  palace  of  pleasure.  And 
of  course,  the  magic  of  the  famous  refrain  laid  its  spell 
all  over  the  Metropolis.  Restaurant  proprietors  were 
obliged  to  provide  the  members  of  their  orchestras 

"3 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

with  painted  wc^den  dogs  on  wheels,  in  order  that 
the  much-demanded  and  always  conceded  melody 
should  be  rendered  with  the  necessary  spectacular 
effects,  and  the  crash  of  bottles  and  forks  on  the  tables 
at  the  mention  of  the  big  borzoi  usually  drowned  the 
sincerest  efforts  of  drum  or  cymbals.  Nowhere  and 
at  no  time  could  one  get  away  from  the  double  thump 
that  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  refrain  ;  revellers 
reeling  home  at  night  banged  it  on  doors  and  hoard- 
ings, milkmen  clashed  their  cans  to  its  cadence, 
messenger  boys  hit  smaller  messenger  boys  resounding 
double  smacks  on  the  same  principle.  And  the  more 
thoughtful  circles  of  the  great  city  were  not  deaf  to 
the  claims  and  significance  of  the  popular  melody. 
An  enterprising  and  emancipated  preacher  discoursed 
from  his  pulpit  on  the  inner  meaning  of  "  Cousin 
Teresa,"  and  Lucas  Harrowcluff  was  invited  to  lecture 
on  the  subject  of  his  great  achievement  to  members 
of  the  Young  Men's  Endeavour  League,  the  Nine 
Arts  Club,  and  other  learned  and  willing- to-lcarn 
bodies.  In  Society  it  seemed  to  be  the  one  thing 
people  really  cared  to  talk  about ;  men  and  women 
of  middle  age  and  average  education  might  be  seen 
together  in  corners  earnestly  discussing,  not  the 
question  whether  Servia  should  have  an  outlet  on  the 
Adriatic,  or  the  possibilities  of  a  British  success  in 
international  polo  contests,  but  the  more  absorbing 
topic  of  the  problematic  Aztec  or  Nilotic  origin  of  the 
Teresa  motiv. 

"  Politics  and  patriotism  are  so  boring  and  so  out 
of  date,"  said  a  revered  lady  who  had  some  pretensions 
to  oracular  utterance  ;  "  we  are  too  cosmopolitan 
nowadays  to  be  really  moved  by  them.  That  is  why 
one  welcomes  an  intelligible  production  like  '  Cousin 
114 


COUSIN       TERESA 

Teresa,*  that  has  a  genuine  message  for  one.  One 
can't  understand  the  message  all  at  once,  of  course, 
but  one  felt  from  the  very  first  that  it  was  there.  I've 
been  to  see  it  eighteen  times  and  I'm  going  again  to- 
morrow and  on  Thursday.  One  can't  see  it  often 
enough." 

'  »  •  • 

**  It  would  be  rather  a  popular  move  if  we  gave 
this  Harrowcluff  person  a  knighthood  or  something 
of  the  sort,"  said  the  Minister  reflectively. 

"  Which  Harrowcluff  ?  "  asked  his  secretary. 

"  Which  ?  There  is  only  one,  isn't  there  ?  "  said 
the  Minister  ;  "  the  '  Cousin  Teresa  '  man,  of  course. 
I  think  every  one  would  be  pleased  if  we  knighted 
him.  Yes,  you  can  put  him  dov/n  on  the  list  of 
certainties — under  the  letter  L." 

"  The  letter  L,"  said  the  secretary,  who  was  new 
to  his  job  :  "  does  that  stand  for  Liberalism  or 
liberality  ?  " 

Most  of  the  recipients  of  Ministerial  favour  were 
expected  to  qualify  in  both  of  those  subjects. 

"  Literature,"  explained  the  Minister. 

And  thus,  after  a  fashion.  Colonel  Harrowcluff's 
expectation  of  seeing  his  son's  name  in  the  list  of 
Honours  was  gratified. 


115 


THE       YARKAND       MANNER 

SIR  LULWORTH  QUAYNE  was  making  a 
leis  jrt  ly  progress  through  the  Zoological  Society's 
Gardens  in  company  with  his  nephew,  recently  returned 
from  Mexico.  The  latter  was  interested  in  comparing 
and  contrasting  allied  types  of  animals  occurring  in 
the  North  American  and  Old  World  fauna. 

"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  things  in  the  wan- 
derings of  species,"  he  observed,  "  is  the  sudden  impulse 
to  trek  and  migrate  that  breaks  out  now  and  again,  for 
no  apparent  reason,  in  communities  of  hitherto  stay- 
at-home  animals." 

"  In  human  affairs  the  same  phenomenon  is  occa- 
sionally noticeable,"  said  Sir  Lulworth  ;  "  perhaps 
the  most  striking  instance  of  it  occurred  in  this  country 
while  you  were  away  in  the  wilds  of  Mexico.  I 
mean  the  wander  fever  which  suddenly  displayed 
itself  in  the  managing  and  editorial  staffs  of  certain 
London  newspapers.  It  began  with  the  stampede  of 
the  entire  staff  of  one  of  our  most  brilliant  and  enter- 
prising weeklies  to  the  banks  of  the  Seine  and  the 
heights  of  Montmartre.  The  migration  was  a  brief 
one,  hut  it  heralded  an  era  of  restlessness  in  the  Press 
world  which  lent  quite  a  new  meaning  to  the  phrase 
*  newspaper  circulation.'  Other  editorial  staffs  were 
not  slow  to  imitate  the  example  that  had  been  set 
them.  Paris  soon  dropped  out  of  fashion  as  being  too 
near  home  }  N  urnberg,  Seville,  and  Salonica  became 
ii6 


THE      YARKAND       MANNER 

more  favoured  as  planting-out  grounds  for  the  personnel 
of  not  only  weekly  but  daily  papers  as  well.  The 
localities  were  perhaps  not  always  well  chosen  ;  the 
fact  of  a  leading  organ  of  Evangelical  thought  being 
edited  for  two  successive  fortnights  from  Trouville 
and  Monte  Carlo  was  generally  admitted  to  have 
been  a  mistake.  And  even  when  enterprising  and 
adventurous  editors  took  themselves  and  their  staffs 
further  afield  there  were  some  unavoidable  clashings. 
For  instance,  the  Scrutator^  Sporting  Bluff  and  The 
Damsels'  Own  Paper  all  pitched  on  Khartoum  for  the 
same  week.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  desire  to  out-distance 
all  possible  competition  that  influenced  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Daily  Intelligencer^  one  of  the  most  solid 
and  respected  organs  of  Liberal  opinion,  in  its  decision 
to  transfer  its  otlices  for  three  or  four  weeks  from 
Fleet  Street  to  Eastern  Turkestan,  allowing,  of  course, 
a  necessary  margin  of  time  for  the  journey  there  and 
back.  This  was,  in  many  respects,  the  most  remark- 
able of  all  the  Press  stampedes  that  were  experienced 
at  this  time.  There  was  no  make-believe  about  the 
undertaking  ;  proprietor,  manager,  editor,  sub-editors, 
leader-writers,  principal  reporters,  and  so  forth,  all 
took  part  in  what  was  popularly  alluded  to  as  the  Drang 
nach  Osten  ;  an  intelligent  and  efficient  office-boy 
was  all  that  was  left  in  the  deserted  hive  of  editorial 
industry." 

"  That  was  doing  things  rather  thoroughly,  wasn't 
it  ?  "  said  the  nephew. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Sir  Lulworth,  "  the  migration 
idea  was  falling  somewhat  into  disrepute  from  the 
half-hearted  manner  in  which  it  was  occasionally 
carried  out.  You  were  not  impressed  by  the  informa- 
tion that  such  and  such  a  paper  was  being  edited  and 
117 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

brought  out  at  Lisbon  or  Innsbruck  if  you  chanced  to 
see  the  principal  leader-writer  or  the  art  editor  lunch- 
ing as  usual  at  their  accustomed  restaurants.  The 
Daily  Intelligencer  was  determined  to  give  no  loophole 
foT  cavil  at  the  genuineness  of  its  pilgrimage,  and  it 
must  be  admitted  that  to  a  certain  extent  the  arrange- 
ments made  for  transmitting  copy  and  carrying  on  the 
usual  features  of  the  paper  during  the  long  outward 
journey  worked  smoothly  and  well.  The  series  of 
articles  which  commenced  at  Baku  on  *  What 
Cobdenism  might  do  for  the  camel  industry '  ranks 
among  the  best  of  the  recent  contributions  to  Free 
Trade  literature,  while  the  views  on  foreign  policy 
enunciated  '  from  a  roof  in  Yarkand  '  showed  at  least 
as  much  grasp  of  the  international  situation  as  those 
that  had  germinated  within  half  a  mile  of  Downing 
Street.  Quite  in  keeping,  too,  with  the  older  and 
better  traditions  of  British  journalism  was  the  manner 
of  the  home-coming ;  no  bombast,  no  personal 
advertisement,  no  flamboyant  interviews.  Even  a 
complimentary  luncheon  at  the  Voyagers'  Club  was 
courteously  declined.  Indeed,  it  began  to  be  felt  that 
the  self-effacement  of  the  returned  pressmen  was  being 
carried  to  a  pedantic  length.  Foreman  compositors, 
advertisement  clerks,  and  other  members  of  the 
non-editorial  staff,  who  had,  of  course,  taken  no  part 
in  the  great  trek,  found  it  as  impossible  to  get  into 
direct  communication  with  the  editor  and  his  satellites 
now  that  they  had  returned  as  when  they  had  been 
excusably  inaccessible  in  Central  Asia.  The  sulky, 
overworked  ofHce-boy,  who  was  the  one  connecting 
link  between  the  editorial  brain  and  the  business 
departments  of  the  paper,  sardonically  explained  the 
new  aloofness  as  the  '  Yarkand  manner.'  Most  of 
Il8 


THE      YARKAND       MANNER 

the  reporters  and  sub-editors  seemed  to  have  been 
dismissed  in  autocratic  fashion  since  their  return  and 
new  ones  engaged  by  letter  ;  to  these  the  editor  and 
his  immediate  associates  remained  an  unseen  presence, 
issuing  its  instructions  solely  through  the  medium  of 
curt  type-written  notes.  Something  mystic  and 
Tibetan  and  forbidden  had  replaced  the  human  bustle 
and  democratic  simplicity  of  pre-migration  days,  and 
the  same  experience  was  encountered  by  those  who 
made  social  overtures  to  the  returned  wanderers.  The 
most  brilliant  hostess  of  Twentieth  Century  London 
flung  the  pearl  of  her  hospitality  into  the  unresponsive 
trough  of  the  editorial  letter-box  ;  it  seemed  as  if 
nothing  short  of  a  Royal  command  would  drag  the 
hermit-souled  revenants  from  their  self-imposed  seclu- 
sion. People  began  to  talk  unkindly  of  the  effect  of 
high  altitudes  and  Eastern  atmosphere  on  minds  and 
temperaments  unused  to  such  luxuries.  The  Yarkand 
manner  was  not  popular." 

"  And  the  contents  of  the  paper,"  said  the 
nephew,  "  did  they  show  the  influence  of  the  new 
style  ? " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Sir  Lulworth,  "  that  was  the  exciting 
thing.  In  home  affairs,  social  questions,  and  the 
ordinary  events  of  the  day  not  much  change  was 
noticeable.  A  certain  Oriental  carelessness  seemed 
to  have  crept  into  the  editorial  department,  and  perhaps 
a  note  of  lassitude  not  unnatural  in  the  work  of  men 
who  had  returned  from  what  has  been  a  fairly  arduous 
journey.  The  aforetime  standard  of  excellence  was 
scarcely  maintained,  but  at  any  rate  the  general  lines 
of  policy  and  outlook  were  not  departed  from.  It  was 
in  the  realm  of  foreign  affairs  that  a  startling  change 
took  place.  Blunt,  forcible,  outspoken  articles 
119 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

appeared,  couched  in  language  which  nearly  turned 
the  autumn  manoeuvres  of  six  important  Powers 
into  mobiHzations.  Whatever  else  the  Daily  Intelli- 
gencer had  learned  in  the  East,  it  had  not  acquired  the 
art  of  diplomatic  ambiguity.  The  man  in  the  street 
enjoyed  the  articles  and  bought  the  paper  as  he  had 
never  bought  it  before  ;  the  men  in  Downing  Street 
took  a  different  view.  The  Foreign  Secretary,  hitherto 
accounted  a  rather  reticent  man,  became  positively 
garrulous  in  the  course  of  perpetually  disavowing  the 
sentiments  expressed  in  the  Daily  Intelligencer^ s  leaders  ; 
and  then  one  day  the  Government  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  something  definite  and  drastic  must  be 
done.  A  deputation,  consisting  of  the  Prime  Minister, 
the  Foreign  Secretary,  four  leading  financiers,  and  a 
well-known  Nonconformist  divine,  made  its  way  to 
the  offices  of  the  paper.  At  the  door  leading  to  the 
editorial  department  the  way  was  barred  by  a  nervous 
but  defiant  officerboy. 

"  '  You  can't  see  the  editor  nor  any  of  the  staff," 
he  announced. 

"  '  We  insist  on  seeing  the  editor  or  some  responsible 
person,'  said  the  Prime  Minister,  and  the  deputation 
forced  its  way  in.  The  boy  had  spoken  truly  ;  there 
was  no  one  to  be  seen.  In  the  whole  suite  of  rooms 
there  was  no  sign  of  human  life. 

'"Where  is  the  editor  ? '  *  Or  the  foreign  editor,* 
'  Or  the  chief  leader-writer  ? '      'Or  anybody  ? ' 

"  In  answer  to  the  shower  of  questions  the  boy 
unlocked  a  drawer  and  produced  a  strange-looking 
envelope,  which  bore  a  Khokand  postmark,  and  a 
date  of  some  seven  or  eight  months  back.  It  contained 
a  scrap  of  paper  on  which  was  written  the  following 
message  : 

120 


THE      YARKAND      MANNER 

" '  Entire  party  captured  by  brigand  tribe  on  homeward 
journey.  Quarter  of  million  demanded  as  ransom,  but 
would  probably  take  less.  Inform  Government,  relations, 
and  friends.' 

"There  followed  the  signatures  of  the  principal 
members  of  the  party  and  instructions  as  to  how  and 
where  the  money  was  to  be  paid. 

"  The  letter  had  been  directed  to  the  office-boy-in- 
charge,  who  had  quietly  suppressed  it.  No  one  is  a 
hero  to  one's  own  office-boy,  and  he  evidently  con- 
sidered that  a  quarter  of  a  million  was  an  unwarrantable 
outlay  for  such  a  doubtfully  advantageous  object  as 
the  repatriation  of  an  errant  newspaper  staff.  So  he 
drew  the  editorial  and  other  salaries,  forged  what 
signatures  were  necessary,  engaged  new  reporters, 
did  what  sub-editing  he  could,  and  made  as  much  use 
as  possible  of  the  large  accumulation  of  special  articles 
that  was  held  in  reserve  for  emergencies.  The  articles 
on  foreign  affairs  were  entirely  his  own  composition. 

"  Of  course  the  whole  thing  had  to  be  kept  as  quiet 
as  possible  ;  an  interim  staff,  pledged  to  secrecy,  was 
appointed  to  keep  the  paper  going  till  the  pining  cap- 
tives could  be  sought  out,  ransomed,  and  brought 
home,  in  twos  and  threes  to  escape  notice,  and  gradu- 
ally things  were  put  back  on  their  old  footing.  The 
articles  on  foreign  affairs  reverted  to  the  wonted 
traditions  of  the  paper." 

"  But,"  interposed  the  nephew,  "  how  on  earth  did 
the  boy  account  to  the  relatives  all  those  months  for 

the  non-appearance " 

"That,"    said    Sir    Lulworth,    "was    the    most 

brilliant  stroke  of  all.     To  the  wife  or  nearest  relative 

of  each  of  the  missing  men  he  forwarded  a  letter, 

copying  the  handwriting  of  the  supposed  writer  as 

121 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

well  as  he  could,  and  making  excuses  about  vile  pens 
and  ink  ;  in  each  letter  he  told  the  same  story,  varying 
only  the  locality,  to  the  effect  that  the  writer,  alone  of 
the  whole  party,  was  unable  to  tear  himself  away  from 
the  wild  liberty  and  allurements  of  Eastern  life,  and 
was  going  to  spend  several  months  roaming  in  some 
selected  region.  Many  of  the  wives  started  off  imme- 
diately in  pursuit  of  their  errant  husbands,  and  it  took 
the  Government  a  considerable  time  and  much  trouble 
to  reclaim  them  from  their  fruitless  quests  along  the 
banks  of  the  Oxus,  the  Gobi  Desert,  the  Orenburg 
steppe,  and  other  outlandish  places.  One  of  them,  I 
believe,  is  still  lost  somewhere  in  the  Tigris  Valley." 

"  And  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Is  still  in  journalism." 


131 


THE      BYZANTINE      OMELETTE 

SOPHIE  CHATTEL-MONKHEIM  was  a 
Socialist  by  conviction  and  a  Chattel-Monkheim 
by  marriage.  The  particular  member  of  that  wealthy 
family  whom  she  had  married  was  rich,  even  as  his 
relatives  counted  riches.  Sophie  had  very  advanced 
and  decided  views  as  to  the  distribution  of  money  :  it 
was  a  pleasing  and  fortunate  circumstance  that  she 
also  had  the  money.  When  she  inveighed  eloquently 
against  the  evils  of  capitalism  at  drawing-room  meetings 
and  Fabian  conferences  she  was  conscious  of  a  com- 
fortable feeling  that  the  system,  with  all  its  inequalities 
and  iniquities,  would  probably  last  her  time.  It  is 
one  of  the  consolations  of  middle-aged  reformers  that 
the  good  they  inculcate  must  live  after  them  if  it  is 
to  live  at  all. 

On  a  certain  spring  evening,  somewhere  towards 
the  dinner-hour,  Sophie  sat  tranquilly  between  her 
mirror  and  her  maid,  undergoing  the  process  of  having 
her  hair  built  into  an  elaborate  reflection  of  the  pre- 
vailing fashion.  She  was  hedged  round  with  a  great 
peace,  the  peace  of  one  who  has  attained  a  desired  end 
with  much  effort  and  perseverance,  and  who  has  found 
it  still  eminently  desirable  in  its  attainment.  The 
Duke  of  Syria  had  consented  to  come  beneath  her 
roof  as  a  guest,  was  even  now  installed  beneath  her 
roof,  and  would  shortly  be  sitting  at  her  dining-table. 
As  a  good  Socialist,  Sophie  disapproved  of  social  dis- 
123 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

tinctions,  and  derided  the  idea  of  a  princely  caste,  but 
if  there  were  to  be  these  artificial  gradations  of  rank 
and  dignity  she  was  pleased  and  anxious  to  have  an 
exalted  specimen  of  an  exalted  order  included  in  her 
house  party.  She  was  broad-minded  enough  to  love  the 
sinner  while  hating  the  sin — not  that  she  entertained 
any  warm  feeling  of  personal  affection  for  the  Duke  of 
Syria,  who  was  a  comparative  stranger,  but  still,  as 
Duke  of  Syria,  he  was  very,  very  welcome  beneath 
her  roof.  She  could  not  have  explained  why,  but  no 
one  was  likely  to  ask  her  for  an  explanation,  and  most 
hostesses  envied  her. 

"  You  must  surpass  yourself  to-night,  Richardson," 
she  said  complacently  to  her  maid  ;  "  I  must  be 
looking  my  very  best.  We  must  all  surpass  our- 
selves." 

The  maid  said  nothing,  but  from  the  concentrated 
look  in  her  eyes  and  the  deft  play  of  her  fingers  it  was 
evident  that  she  was  beset  with  the  ambition  to  surpass 
herself. 

A  knock  came  at  the  door,  a  quiet  but  peremptory 
knock,  as  of  some  one  who  would  not  be  denied. 

"  Go  and  see  who  it  is,"  said  Sophie  j  "  it  may  be 
something  about  the  wine." 

Richardson  held  a  hurried  conference  with  an 
invisible  messenger  at  the  door  ;  when  she  returned 
there  was  noticeable  a  curious  listlessness  in  place  of 
her  hitherto  alert  manner. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Sophie. 

"  The  household  servants  have  *  downed  tools,' 
madame,"  said  Richardson. 

"  Downed  tools  I  "  exclaimed  Sophie  ;  "do  you 
mean  to  say  they've  gone  on  strike  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  Richardson,  adding  the 
124 


THE       BYZANTINE       OMELETTE 

information  :      "  It's    Gaspare    that    the    trouble    is 
about." 

"Gaspare?"  said  Sophie  wonderingly ;  "the 
emergency  chef  !     The  omelette  speciahst  !  " 

"  Yes,  madame.  Before  he  became  an  omelette 
specialist  he  was  a  valet,  and  he  was  one  of  the  strike- 
breakers in  the  great  strike  at  Lord  Grimford's  two 
years  ago.  As  soon  as  the  household  staff  here  learned 
that  you  had  engaged  him  they  resolved  to  '  down 
tools  '  as  a  protest.  They  haven't  got  any  grievance 
against  you  personally,  but  they  demand  that  Gaspare 
should  be  immediately  dismissed." 

"  But,"  protested  Sophie,  "  he  is  the  only  man  in 
England  who  understands  how  to  make  a  Byzantine 
omelette.  I  engaged  him  specially  for  the  Duke  of 
Syria's  visit,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  replace  him 
at  short  notice.  I  should  have  to  send  to  Paris,  and 
the  Duke  loves  Byzantine  omelettes.  It  was  the  one 
thing  we  talked  about  coming  from  the  station." 

"  He  was  one  of  the  strike-breakers  at  Lord  Grim- 
ford's,"  reiterated  Richardson. 

"  This  is  too  awful,"  said  Sophie  j  "  a  strike  of 
servants  at  a  moment  like  this,  with  the  Duke  of 
Syria  staying  in  the  house.  Something  must  be  done 
immediately.  Quick,  finish  my  hair  and  I'll  go  and 
see  what  I  can  do  to  bring  them  round." 

"  I  can't  finish  your  hair,  madame,"  said  Richard- 
son quietly,  but  with  immense  decision.  "  I  belong 
to  the  union  and  I  can't  do  another  half-minute's 
work  till  the  strike  is  settled.  I'm  sorry  to  be  dis- 
obliging." 

"  But  this  is  inhuman  !  "  exclaimed  Sophie  tragic- 
ally ;    "  I've  always  been  a  model  mistress  and  I've 
refused  to  employ  any  but  union  servants,  and  this  is 
125 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

the  result.  I  can't  finish  my  hair  myself;  I  don't 
know  how  to.     What  am  I  to  do  ?      It's  wicked  !  " 

"  Wicked  is  the  word,"  said  Richardson  j  "  I'm 
a  good  Conservative,  and  I've  no  patience  with  this 
Socialist  foolery,  asking  your  pardon.  It's  tyranny, 
that's  what  it  is,  all  along  the  line,  but  I've  my  living  to 
make,  same  as  other  people,  and  I've  got  to  belong  to 
the  union.  I  couldn't  touch  another  hair-pin  without 
a  strike  permit,  not  if  you  was  to  double  my  wages." 

The  door  burst  open  and  Catherine  Malsom  raged 
into  the  room. 

"  Here's  a  nice  affair,"  she  screamed,  "a  strike  of 
household  servants  without  a  moment's  warning,  and 
I'm  left  like  this  I  I  can't  appear  in  public  in  this 
condition." 

After  a  very  hasty  scrutiny  Sophie  assured  her  that 
she  could  not. 

"  Have  they  all  struck  ?  "  she  asked  her  maid. 

"  Not  the  kitchen  staff,"  said  Richardson,  "  they 
belong  to  a  different  union." 

"  Dinner  at  least  will  be  assured,"  said  Sophie, 
"  that  is  something  to  be  thankful  for." 

"  Dinner  I  "  snorted  Catherine,  "  what  on  earth 
is  the  good  of  dinner  when  none  of  us  will  be  able 
to  appear  at  it  ?  Look  at  your  hair — and  look  at 
me  I    or  rather,  don't." 

"  I  know  it's  difficult  to  manage  without  a  maid  ) 
can't  your  husband  be  any  help  to  you  ?  "  asked  Sophie 
despairingly. 

"  Henry  ?  He's  in  worse  case  than  any  of  us. 
His  man  is  the  only  person  who  really  understands 
that  ridiculous  new-fangled  Turkish  bath  that  he 
insists  on  taking  with  him  everywhere." 

"Surely  he  could  do  without  a  Turkish  bath  for 
126 


THE      BYZANTINE      OMELETTE 

one  evening,"  said  Sophie  ;    "  I  can't  appear  without 
hair,  but  a  Turkish  bath  is  a  luxury." 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Catherine,  speaking  with 
a  fearful  intensity,  "  Henry  was  in  the  bath  when  the 
strike  started.  In  it,  do  you  understand  ?  He's  there 
now." 

"  Can't  he  get  out  ?  '* 

"  He  doesn't  know  how  to.  Every  time  he  pulls 
the  lever  marked  '  release  '  he  only  releases  hot  steam. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  steam  in  the  bath,  '  bearable ' 
and  '  scarcely  bearable '  ;  he  has  released  them  both. 
By  this  time  I'm  probably  a  widow." 

"  I  simply  can't  send  away  Gaspare,"  wailed 
Sophie  ;  "  I  should  never  be  able  to  secure  another 
omelette  specialist." 

"  Any  difficulty  that  I  may  experience  in  securing 
another  husband  is  of  course  a  trifle  beneath  anyone's 
consideration,"  said  Catherine  bitterly. 

Sophie  capitulated.  "  Go,"  she  said  to  Richardson, 
"and  tell  the  Strike  Committee,  or  whoever  are 
directing  this  affair,  that  Gaspare  is  herewith  dis- 
missed. And  ask  Gaspare  to  see  me  presently  in  the 
library,  when  I  will  pay  him  what  is  due  to  him  and 
make  what  excuses  I  can  ;  and  then  fly  back  and 
finish  my  hair." 

Some  half  an  hour  later  Sophie  marshalled  her 
guests  in  the  Grand  Salon  preparatory  to  the  formal 
march  to  the  dining-room.  Except  that  Henry 
Malsom  was  of  the  ripe  raspberry  tint  that  one  some- 
times sees  at  private  theatricals  representing  the  human 
complexion,  there  was  little  outward  sign  among 
those  assembled  of  the  crisis  that  had  just  been  en- 
countered and  surmounted.  But  the  tension  had 
been  too  stupefying  while  it  lasted  not  to  leave  some 
127 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

mental  effects  behind  it.  Sophie  talked  at  random  to 
her  illustrious  guest,  and  found  her  eyes  straying  with 
increasing  frequency  towards  the  great  doors  through 
which  would  presently  come  the  blessed  announcement 
that  dinner  was  served.  Now  and  again  she  glanced 
mirror- ward  at  the  reflection  of  her  wonderfully 
coiffed  hair,  as  an  insurance  underwriter  might  gaze 
thankfully  at  an  overdue  vessel  that  had  ridden  safely 
into  harbour  in  the  wake  of  a  devastating  hurricane. 
Then  the  doors  opened  and  the  welcome  figure  of  the 
butler  entered  the  room.  But  he  made  no  general 
announcement  of  a  banquet  in  readiness,  and  the 
doors  closed  behind  him  ;  his  message  was  for  Sophie 
alone. 

"  There  is  no  dinner,  madame,"  he  said  gravely  ; 
"  the  kitchen  staff  have  '  downed  tools.'  Gaspare 
belongs  to  the  Union  of  Cooks  and  Kitchen  Employees, 
and  as  soon  as  they  heard  of  his  summary  dismissal  at 
a  moment's  notice  they  struck  work.  They  demand 
his  instant  reinstatement  and  an  apology  to  the  union. 
I  may  add,  madame,  that  they  are  very  firm  ;  I've 
been  obliged  even  to  hand  back  the  dinner  rolls  that 
were  already  on  the  table." 

After  the  lapse  of  eighteen  months  Sophie  Chattel- 
Monkheim  is  beginning  to  go  about  again  among 
her  old  haunts  and  associates,  but  she  still  has  to  be  very 
careful.  The  doctors  will  not  let  her  attend  anything 
at  all  exciting,  such  as  a  drawing-room  meeting  or  a 
Fabian  conference  >  it  is  doubtful,  indeed,  whether 
she  wants  to. 


128 


THE      FEAST      OF      NEMESIS 

T'S  a  good  thing  that  Saint  Valentine's  Day  has 
dropped  out  of  vogue,"  said  Mrs.  Thacken- 
bury  ;  "  what  with  Christmas  and  New  Year  and 
Easter,  not  to  speak  of  birthdays,  there  are  quite  enough 
remembrance  days  as  it  is.  I  tried  to  save  myself 
trouble  at  Christmas  by  just  sending  flowers  to  all  my 
friends,  but  it  wouldn't  work  ;  Gertrude  has  eleven 
hot-houses  and  about  thirty  gardeners,  so  it  would 
have  been  ridiculous  to  send  flowers  to  her,  and  Milly 
has  just  started  a  florist's  shop,  so  it  was  equally  out 
of  the  question  there.  The  stress  of  having  to  decide 
in  a  hurry  what  to  give  to  Gertrude  and  Milly  just 
when  I  thought  I'd  got  the  whole  question  nicely 
oflF  my  mind  completely  ruined  my  Christmas,  and 
then  the  awful  monotony  of  the  letters  of  thanks  : 
*  Thank  you  so  much  for  your  lovely  flowers.  It  was 
so  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,'  Of  course  in  the 
majority  of  cases  I  hadn't  thought  about  the  recipients 
at  all  J  their  names  were  down  in  my  list  of  '  people 
who  must  not  be  left  out.'  If  I  trusted  to  remem- 
bering them  there  would  be  some  awful  sins  of 
omission." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  said  Clovis  to  his  aunt,  "  all 
these  days  of  intrusive  remembrance  harp  so  per- 
sistently on  one  aspect  of  human  nature  and  entirely 
ignore  the  other  ;  that  is  why  they  become  so  per- 
functory and  artificial.  At  Christmas  and  New  Year 
129 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

you  are  emboldened  and  encouraged  by  convention 
to  send  gushing  messages  of  optimistic  goodwill  and 
servile  atfection  to  people  whom  you  would  scarcely 
ask  to  lunch  unless  some  one  else  had  failed  you  at  the 
last  moment  ;  if  you  are  supping  at  a  restaurant  on 
New  Y^r's  Eve  you  are  permitted  and  expected  to 
join  hands  and  sing  'For  Auld  Lang  Syne'  with 
strangers  whom  you  have  never  seen  before  and  never 
want  to  see  again.  But  no  licence  is  allowed  in  the 
opposite  direction." 

"Opposite  direction;  what  opposite  direction?" 
queried  Mrs.  Thackenbury. 

"  There  is  no  outlet  for  demonstrating  your  feelings 
towards  people  whom  you  simply  loathe.  That  is 
really  the  crying  need  of  our  modern  civilization. 
Just  think  how  jolly  it  would  be  if  a  recognized  day 
were  set  apart  for  the  paying  off  of  old  scores  and 
grudges,  a  day  when  one  could  lay  oneself  out  to  be 
gracefully  vindictive  to  a  carefully  treasured  list  of 
'  people  who  must  not  be  let  off.*  I  remember  when 
I  was  at  a  private  school  we  had  one  day,  the  last 
Monday  of  the  term  I  think  it  was,  consecrated  to 
the  settlement  of  feuds  and  grudges  ;  of  course  we 
did  not  appreciate  it  as  much  as  it  deserved,  because 
after  all,  any  day  of  the  term  could  be  used  for  that 
purpose.  Still,  if  one  had  chastised  a  smaller  boy  for 
being  cheeky  weeks  before,  one  was  always  permitted 
on  that  day  to  recall  the  episode  to  his  memory  by 
chastising  him  again.  That  is  what  the  French  call 
reconstructing  the  crime." 

"  I  should  call  it  reconstructing  the  punishment," 
said  Mrs.  Thackenbury  ;    "and,  anyhow,  I  don't  see 
how  you  could  introduce  a  system  of  primitive  school- 
boy vengeance  into  civilized  adult  life.     We  haven't 
130 


THE      FEAST      OF      NEMESIS 

outgrown  our  passions,  but  we  are  supposed  to  have 
learned  how  to  keep  them  within  strictly  decorous 
limits." 

"  Of  course  the  thing  would  have  to  be  done 
furtively  and  politely,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  the  charm  of 
it  would  be  that  it  would  never  be  perfunctory  like  the 
other  thing.  Now,  for  instance,  you  say  to  yourself : 
*  I  must  show  the  Webleys  some  attention  at  Christ- 
mas, they  were  kind  to  dear  Bertie  at  Bournemouth,* 
and  you  send  them  a  calendar,  and  daily  for  six  days 
after  Christmas  the  male  Webley  asks  the  female 
Webley  if  she  has  remembered  to  thank  you  for  the 
calendar  you  sent  them.  Well,  transplant  that  idea 
to  the  other  and  more  human  side  of  your  nature,  and 
say  to  yourself ;  *  Next  Thursday  is  Nemesis  Day  ; 
what  on  earth  can  I  do  to  those  odious  people  next 
door  who  made  such  an  absurd  fuss  when  Ping  Yang 
bit  their  youngest  child  ? '  Then  you'd  get  up 
awfully  early  on  the  allotted  day  and  climb  over  into 
their  garden  and  dig  for  truffles  on  their  tennis  court 
with  a  good  gardening  fork,  choosing,  of  course,  that 
part  of  the  court  that  was  screened  from  observation 
by  the  laurel  bushes.  You  wouldn't  find  any  truffles 
but  you  would  find  a  great  peace,  such  as  no  amount 
of  present-giving  could  ever  bestow." 

"  I  shouldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Thackenbury,  though  her 
air  of  protest  sounded  a  bit  forced  ;  "  I  should  feel 
rather  a  worm  for  doing  such  a  thing." 

"  You  exaggerate  the  power  of  upheaval  which  a 
worm  would  be  able  to  bring  into  play  in  the  limited 
time  available,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  if  you  put  in  a  strenuous 
ten  minutes  with  a  really  useful  fork,  the  result  ought 
to  suggest  the  operations  of  an  unusually  masterful 
mole  or  a  badger  in  a  hurry." 

131 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

"They  might  guess  I  had  done  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Thackenbury. 

"  Of  course  they  would,"  said  Clovis  ;  '"  that 
would  be  half  the  satisfaction  of  the  thing,  just  as  you 
like  people  at  Christmas  to  know  what  presents  or 
cards  you've  sent  them.  The  thing  would  be  much 
easier  to  manage,  of  course,  when  you  were  on  out- 
wardly friendly  terms  with  the  object  of  your  dislike. 
That  greedy  little  Agnes  Blaik,  for  instance,  who  thinks 
of  nothing  but  her  food,  it  would  be  quite  simple  to 
ask  her  to  a  picnic  in  some  wild  woodland  spot  and 
lose  her  just  before  lunch  was  served  ;  when  you 
found  her  again  every  morsel  of  food  could  have  been 
eaten  up." 

"It  would  require  no  ordinary  human  strategy  to 
lose  Agnes  Blaik  when  luncheon  was  imminent  ; 
in  fact,  I  don't  believe  it  could  be  done." 

"  Then  have  all  the  other  guests,  people  whom 
you  dislike,  and  lose  the  luncheon.  It  could  have 
been  sent  by  accident  in  the  wrong  direction." 

"It  would  be  a  ghastly  picnic,"  said  Mrs.  Thacken- 
bury. 

"  For  them,  but  not  for  you,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  you 
would  have  had  an  early  and  comforting  lunch  before 
you  started,  and  you  could  improve  the  occasion  by 
mentioning  in  detail  the  items  of  the  missing  banquet 
— the  lobster  Newburg  and  the  egg  mayonnaise,  and 
the  curry  that  was  to  have  been  heated  in  a  chafing- 
dish.  Agnes  Blaik  would  be  delirious  long  before  you 
got  to  the  list  of  wines,  and  in  the  long  interval  of  wait- 
ing, before  they  had  quite  abandoned  hope  of  the  lunch 
turning  up,  you  could  induce  them  to  play  silly  games, 
such  as  that  idiotic  one  of  '  the  Lord  Mayor's  dinner- 
party,' in  which  every  one  has  to  choose  the  name  of 
13^ 


THE      FEAST      OF      NEMESIS 

a  dish  and  do  something  futile  when  it  is  called  out 
In  this  case  they  would  probably  burst  into  tears  when 
their  dish  is  mentioned.  It  would  be  a  heavenly 
picnic." 

Mrs.  Thackenbury  was  silent  for  a  moment  ;  she 
was  probably  making  a  mental  list  of  the  people  she 
would  like  to  invite  to  the  Duke  Humphrey  picnic. 
Presently  she  asked  :  "  And  that  odious  young  man, 
Waldo  Plubley,  who  is  always  coddling  himself — have 
you  thought  of  anything  that  one  could  do  to  him?" 
Evidently  she  was  beginning  to  see  the  possibilities  of 
Nemesis  Day. 

*'  If  there  was  anything  like  a  general  observance 
of  the  festival,"  said  Clovis,  "  Waldo  would  be  in  such 
demand  that  you  would  have  to  bespeak  him  weeks 
beforehand,  and  even  then,  if  there  were  an  east  wind 
blowing  or  a  cloud  or  two  in  the  sky  he  might  be  too 
careful  of  his  precious  self  to  come  out.  It  would  be 
rather  jolly  if  you  could  lure  him  into  a  hammock  in 
the  orchard,  just  near  the  spot  where  there  is  a  wasps* 
nest  every  summer.  A  comfortable  hammock  on  a 
warm  afternoon  would  appeal  to  his  indolent  tastes, 
and  then,  when  he  was  getting  drowsy,  a  lighted  fusee 
thrown  into  the  nest  would  bring  the  wasps  out  in  an 
indignant  mass,  and  they  would  soon  find  a  '  home 
away  from  home '  on  Waldo's  fat  body.  It  takes  some 
doing  to  get  out  of  a  hammock  in  a  hurry." 

"  They  might  sting  him  to  death,"  protested  Mrs. 
Thackenbury. 

"  Waldo  is  one  of  those  people  who  would  be 
enormously  improved  by  death,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  but 
if  you  didn't  want  to  go  as  far  as  that,  you  could  have 
some  wet  straw  ready  to  hand,  and  set  it  alight  under 
the  hammock  at  the  same  time  that  the  fusee  was 
»33 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

thrown  into  the  nest  ;  the  smoke  would  keep  all  but 
the  most  militant  of  the  wasps  just  outside  the  stinging 
line,  and  as  long  as  Waldo  remained  within  its  pro- 
tection he  would  escape  serious  damage,  and  could  be 
eventually  restored  to  his  mother,  kippered  all  over 
and  swollen  in  places,  but  still  perfectly  recognizable." 

"  His  mother  would  by  my  enemy  for  life,"  said  Mrs, 
Thackenbury. 

"  That  would  be  one  greeting  less  to  exchange  at 
Christmas,"  said  Clovis. 


134 


THE       DREAMER 

IT  was  the  season  of  sales.  The  august  establish- 
ment of  Walpurgis  and  Nettlepink  had  lowered 
its  prices  for  an  entire  week  as  a  concession  to  trade 
observances,  much  as  an  Archduchess  might  protest- 
ingly  contract  an  attack  of  influenza  for  the  unsatis- 
factory reason  that  influenza  was  locally  prevalent. 
Adela  Chemping,  who  considered  herself  in  some 
measure  superior  to  the  allurements  of  an  ordinary 
bargain  sale,  made  a  point  of  attending  the  reduction 
week  at  Walpurgis  and  Nettlepink's. 

"  I'm  not  a  bargain  hunter,"  she  said,  "  but  I  like 
to  go  where  bargains  are." 

Which  showed  that  beneath  her  surface  strength 
of  character  there  flowed  a  gracious  undercurrent  of 
human  weakness. 

With  a  view  to  providing  herself  with  a  male  escort 
Mrs.  Chemping  had  invited  her  youngest  nephew  to 
accompany  her  on  the  first  day  of  the  shopping  expedi- 
tion, throwing  in  the  additional  allurement  of  a 
cinematograph  theatre  and  the  prospect  of  light 
refreshment.  As  Cyprian  was  not  yet  eighteen,  she 
hoped  he  might  not  have  reached  that  stage  in  mascu- 
line development  when  parcel-carrying  is  looked  on 
as  a  thing  abhorrent. 

'  "  Meet  me  just  outside  the  floral  department,"  she 
wrote  to  him,  "  and  don't  be  a  moment  later  than 
eleven." 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

Cyprian  was  a  boy  who  carried  with  him  through 
early  hfe  the  wondering  look  of  a  dreamer,  the  eyes 
of  one  who  sees  things  that  are  not  visible  to  ordinary 
mortals,  and  invests  the  commonplace  things  of  this 
world  with  qualities  unsuspected  by  plainer  folk — 
the  eyes  of  a  poet  or  a  house  agent.  He  was  quietly 
dressed — that  sartorial  quietude  which  frequently 
accompanies  early  adolescence,  and  is  usually  attributed 
by  novel-writers  to  the  influence  of  a  widowed  mother. 
His  hair  was  brushed  back  in  a  smoothness  as  of 
ribbon  seaweed  and  seamed  with  a  narrow  furrow  that 
scarcely  aimed  at  being  a  parting.  His  aunt  par- 
ticularly noted  this  item  of  his  toilet  when  they  met 
at  the  appointed  rendezvous,  because  he  was  standing 
waiting  for  her  bareheaded. 

"  Where  is  your  hat  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  didn't  bring  one  with  me,"  he  replied. 

Adela  Chemping  was  slightly  scandalized. 

*'  You  are  not  going  to  be  what  they  call  a  Nut, 
are  you  .? "  she  inquired  with  some  anxiety,  partly 
with  the  idea  that  a  Nut  would  be  an  extravagance 
which  her  sister's  small  household  would  scarcely 
be  justified  in  incurring,  partly,  perhaps,  with  the 
instinctive  apprehension  that  a  Nut,  even  in  its  em- 
bryo stage,  would  refuse  to  carry  parcels. 

Cyprian  looked  at  her  with  his  wondering,  dreamy 
eyes. 

"  I  didn't  bring  a  hat,"  he  said,  "  because  it  is 
such  a  nuisance  when  one  is  shopping ;  I  mean 
it  is  so  awkward  if  one  meets  anyone  one  knows  and 
has  to  take  one's  hat  off  when  one's  hands  are  full  of 
parcels.      If  one  hasn't  got  a  hat  on  one  can't  take  it  off." 

Mrs.    Chemping    sighed    with    great    relief;     her 
worst  fear  had  been  laid  at  rest. 
136 


THE      DREAMER 

"It  is  more  orthodox  to  wear  a  hat,"  she  observed, 
and  til  en  turned  her  attention  briskly  to  the  business 
in  hand. 

"  We  will  go  first  to  the  table-linen  counter,"  she 
said,  leading  the  way  in  that  direction  ;  "  I  should 
like  to  look  at  some  napkins." 

The  wondering  look  deepened  in  Cyprian's  eyes 
as  he  followed  his  aunt  ;  he  belonged  to  a  genera- 
tion that  is  supposed  to  be  over-fond  of  the  role 
of  mere  spectator,  but  looking  at  napkins  that  one 
did  not  mean  to  buy  was  a  pleasure  beyond  his  com- 
prehension. Mrs.  Chemping  held  one  or  two  napkins 
up  to  the  light  and  stared  fixedly  at  them,  as  though 
she  half  expected  to  find  some  revolutionary  cypher 
written  on  them  in  scarcely  visible  ink  ;  then  she 
suddenly  broke  away  in  the  direction  of  the  glass- 
ware department. 

"  Millicent  asked  me  to  get  her  a  couple  of  decan- 
ters if  there  were  any  going  really  cheap,"  she  ex- 
plained on  the  way,  "  and  I  really  do  want  a  salad 
bowl.  I  can  come  back  to  the  napkins  later 
on." 

She  handled  and  scrutinized  a  large  number  of 
decanters  and  a  long  series  of  salad  bowls,  and  finally 
bought  seven  chrysanthemum  vases. 

"  No  one  uses  that  kind  of  vase  nowadays,"  she 
informed  Cyprian,  "  but  they  will  do  for  presents 
next  Christmas." 

Two  sunshades  that  were  marked  down  to  a  price 
that  Mrs.  Chemping  considered  absurdly  cheap  were 
added  to  her  purchases. 

"  One  of  them  will  do  for  Ruth  Colson  ;  she  is 
going  out  to  the  Malay  States,  and  a  sunshade  will 
always  be  useful  there.     And  I  must  get  her  some 

137 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

thin  writing  paper.  It  takes  up  no  room  in  one's 
baggage." 

Mrs.  Chemping  bought  stacks  of  writing  paper  ; 
it  was  so  cheap,  and  it  went  so  flat  in  a  trunk  or  port- 
manteau. She  also  bought  a  few  envelopes — envel- 
opes somehow  seemed  rather  an  extravagance  com- 
pared with  notepaper. 

"  Do  you  think  Ruth  will  like  blue  or  grey  paper  ?  " 
she  asked  Cyprian. 

"  Grey,"  said  Cj'prian,  who  had  never  met  the 
lady  in  question. 

"  Have  you  any  mauve  notepaper  of  this  quality  ?  '* 
Adela  asked  the  assistant. 

"  We  haven't  any  mauve,"  said  the  assistant,  "  but 
we've  two  shades  of  green  and  a  darker  shade  of 
grey." 

Mrs.  Chemping  inspected  the  greens  and  the  darker 
grey,  and  chose  the  blue. 

"  Now  we  can  have  some  lunch,"  she  said. 

Cyprian  behaved  in  an  exemplary  fashion  in  the 
refreshment  department,  and  cheerfully  accepted  a 
fish  cake  and  a  mince  pie  and  a  small  cup  of  coffee 
as  adequate  restoratives  after  two  hours  of  concen- 
trated shopping.  He  was  adamant,  however,  in 
resisting  his  aunt's  suggestion  that  a  hat  should  be 
bought  for  him  at  the  counter  where  men's  head-wear 
was  being  disposed  of  at  temptingly  reduced  prices. 

"  I've  got  as  many  hats  as  I  want  at  home,"  he 
said,  "and  besides,  it  rumples  one's  hair  so,  trying 
them  on." 

Perhaps  he  was  going  to  develop  into  a  Nut  after 
all.  It  was  a  disquieting  symptom  that  he  left  all 
the  parcels  in  charge  of  the  cloak-room  attendant. 

"  We  shall  be  getting  more  parcels  presently," 
138 


THE       DREAMER 

he  said,  "so  we  need  not  collect  these  till  we  have 
finished  our  shopping." 

His  aunt  was  doubtfully  appeased  ;  some  of  the 
pleasure  and  excitement  of  a  shopping  expedition 
seemed  to  evaporate  when  one  was  deprived  of  im- 
mediate personal  contact  with  one's  purchases. 

"  I'm  going  to  look  at  those  napkins  again,"  she 
said,  as  they  descended  the  stairs  to  the  ground  floor. 
"  You  need  not  come,"  she  added,  as  the  dreaming 
look  in  the  boy's  eyes  changed  for  a  moment  into 
one  of  mute  protest,  "  you  can  meet  me  afterwards  in 
the  cutlery  department ;  I've  just  remembered  that 
I  haven't  a  corkscrew  in  the  house  that  can  be  depended 
on. 

Cyprian  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  cutlery  depart- 
ment when  his  aunt  in  due  course  arrived  there, 
but  in  the  crush  and  bustle  of  anxious  shoppers  and 
busy  attendants  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  miss  anyone. 
It  was  in  the  leather  goods  department  some  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  that  Adela  Chemping  caught  sight  of 
her  nephew,  separated  from  her  by  a  rampart  of  suit- 
cases and  portmanteaux  and  hemmed  in  by  the  jostling 
crush  of  human  beings  that  now  invaded  every  corner 
of  the  great  shopping  emporium.  She  was  just  in  time 
to  witness  a  pardonable  but  rather  embarrassing  mis- 
take on  the  part  of  a  lady  who  had  wriggled  her  way 
with  unstayable  determination  towards  the  bare- 
headed Cyprian,  and  was  now  breathlessly  demand- 
ing the  saJe  price  of  a  handbag  which  had  taken  her 
fancy. 

"There  now,"  exclaimed  Adela  to  herself,  "she 
takes  him  for  one  of  the  shop  assistants  because  he 
hasn't  got  a  hat  on.  I  wonder  it  hasn't  happened 
before." 

139 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

Perhaps  it  had.  Cyprian,  at  any  rate,  seemed 
neither  startled  nor  embarrassed  by  the  error  into 
ivhich  the  good  lady  had  fallen.  Examining  the 
ticket  on  the  bag,  he  announced  in  a  clear,  dispas- 
sionate voice  : 

"  Black  seal,  thirty-four  shillings  marked  down 
to  twenty-eight.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  are  clearing 
them  out  at  a  special  reduction  price  of  twenty- 
six  shillings.     They  are  going  off  rather  fast." 

"  I'll  take  it,"  said  the  lady,  eagerly  digging  some 
coins  out  of  her  purse. 

"  Will  you  take  it  as  it  is  ?  "  asked  Cyprian  ;  "  it 
will  be  a  matter  of  a  few  minutes  to  get  it  wrapped 
up,  there  is  such  a  crush." 

"  Never  mind,  I'll  take  it  as  it  is,"  said  the  pur- 
chaser, clutching  her  treasure  and  counting  the  money 
into  Cyprian's  palm. 

Several  kind  strangers  helped  Adela  into  the  open 
air. 

"  It's  the  crush  and  the  heat,"  said  one  sym- 
pathiser to  another  ;  "  it's  enough  to  turn  anyone 
giddy." 

When  she  next  came  across  Cyprian  he  was  stand- 
ing in  the  crowd  that  pushed  and  jostled  around  the 
counters  of  the  book  department.  The  dream  look 
was  deeper  than  ever  in  his  eyes.  He  had  just  sold 
two  books  of  devotion  to  an  elderly  Canon. 


140 


THE      QUINCE      TREE 

"  T'VE  just  been  to  see  old  Betsy  Mullen,"  an- 
X  nounced  Vera  to  her  aunt,  Mrs,  Bebberly 
Cumble  ;  "  she  seems  in  rather  a  bad  way  about 
her  rent.  She  owes  about  fifteen  weeks  of  it,  and 
says  she  doesn't  know  where  any  of  it  is  to  come 
from." 

"  Betsy  Mullen  always  is  in  difficulties  with  her 
rent,  and  the  more  people  help  her  with  it  the  less 
she  troubles  about  it,"  said  the  aunt.  "  I  certainly 
am  not  going  to  assist  her  any  more.  The  fact  is, 
she  will  have  to  go  into  a  smaller  and  cheaper  cottage  ; 
there  are  several  to  be  had  at  the  other  end  of  the 
village  for  half  the  rent  that  she  is  paying,  or  supposed 
to  be  paying,  now.  I  told  her  a  year  ago  that  she 
ought  to  move." 

"  But  she  wouldn't  get  such  a  nice  garden  any- 
where else,"  protested  Vera,  "  and  there's  such  a 
jolly  quince  tree  in  the  corner.  I  don't  suppose 
there's  another  quince  tree  in  the  whole  parish. 
And  she  never  makes  any  quince  jam  ;  I  think  to 
have  a  quince  tree  and  not  to  make  quince  jam  shows 
such  strength  of  character.  Oh,  she  can't  possibly 
move  away  from  that  garden." 

"  When  one  is  sixteen,"  said  Mrs.  Bebberly  Cumble 

severely,  "  one  talks  of  things  being  impossible  which 

are  merely  uncongenial.      It  is  not  only  possible  but 

it  is  desirable  that  Betsy  Mullen  should  move  into 

141 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

smaller  quarters  ;  she  has  scarcely  enough  furniture 
to  fill  that  big  cottage." 

"  As  far  as  value  goes,"  said  Vera  after  a  short 
pause,  "  there  is  more  in  Betsy's  cottage  than  in 
any  other  house  for  miles  round." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  aunt ;  "  she  parted  with 
whatever  old  china  ware  she  had  long  ago." 

"  I'm  not  talking  about  anything  that  belongs 
to  Betsy  herself,"  said  Vera  darkly  ;  "  but  of  course, 
you  don't  know  what  I  know,  and  I  don't  suppose  I 
ought  to  tell  you." 

"  You  must  tell  me  at  once,"  exclaimed  the  aunt, 
her  senses  leaping  into  alertness  like  those  of  a  terrier 
suddenly  exchanging  a  bored  drowsiness  for  the  lively 
anticipation  of  an  immediate  rat  hunt. 

"  I'm  perfectly  certain  that  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you 
anything  about  it,"  said  Vera,  "but,  then,  I  often 
do  things  that  I  oughtn't  to  do." 

"  I  should  be  the  last  person  to  suggest  that  you 

should  do  anything  that  you  ought  not  to  do " 

began  Mrs.  Bebberly  Cumble  impressively. 

"  And  I  am  always  swayed  by  the  last  person  who 
speaks  to  me,"  admitted  Vera,  "so  I'll  do  what  I 
ought  not  to  do  and  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Bebberley  Cumble  thrust  a  very  pardonable 
sense  of  exasperation  into  the  background  of  her 
mind  and  demanded  impatiently  : 

"What  is  there  in  Betsy  Mullen's  cottage  that 
you  are  making  such  a  fuss  about  ?  " 

"  It's  hardly  fair  to  say  that  Vve  made  a  fuss  about 
it,"  said  Vera  ;  "  this  is  the  first  time  I've  mentioned 
the  matter,  but  there's  been  no  end  of  trouble  and 
myster)>  and  newspaper  speculation  about  it.  It's 
rather  amusing  to  think  of  the  columns  of  conjecture 
142 


THE       QUINCE       TREE 

in  the  Press  and  the  pohce  and  detectives  hunting 
about  everywhere  at  home  and  abroad,  and  all  the 
while  that  innocent-looking  little  cottage  has  held 
the  secret." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  it's  the  Louvre  picture, 
La  Something  or  other,  the  woman  with  the  smile, 
that  disappeared  about  two  years  ago  ? "  exclaimed 
the  aunt  with  rising  excitement. 

"  Oh  no,  not  that,"  said  Vera,  "  but  something  quite 
as  important  and  just  as  mysterious — if  anything, 
rather  more  scandalous." 

"  Not  the  Dublin ?  " 

Vera  nodded. 

"  The  whole  jolly  lot  of  them." 

"  In   Betsy's  cottage  ?     Incredible  !  *' 

"  Of  course  Betsy  hasn't  an  idea  as  to  what  they 
are,"  said  Vera;  "she  just  knows  that  they  are 
something  valuable  and  that  she  must  keep  quiet 
about  them.  I  found  out  quite  by  accident  what 
they  were  and  how  they  came  to  be  there.  You  see, 
the  people  who  had  them  were  at  their  wits'  end  to 
know  where  to  stow  them  away  for  safe  keeping,  and 
some  one  who  was  motoring  through  the  village  was 
struck  by  the  snug  loneliness  of  the  cottage  and  thought 
it  would  be  just  the  thing.  Mrs.  Lamper  arranged  the 
matter  with  Betsy  and  smuggled  the  things  in." 

"  Mr^.  Lamper  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  does  a  lot  of  district  visiting,  you  know." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  that  she  takes  soup  and  flannel 
and  improving  literature  to  the  poorer  cottages," 
said  Mrs.  Bebberly  Cumble,  "but  that  is  hardly  the 
same  sort  of  thing  as  disposing  of  stolen  goods,  and 
she  must  have  known  something  about  their  history  ; 
anyone  who  reads  the  papers,  even  casually,  must 
H3  F 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

have  been  aware  of  the  theft,  and  I  should  think  the 
things  were  not  hard  to  recognize.  Mrs.  Lamper 
has  always  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  conscien- 
tious woman." 

"  Of  course  she  was  screening  some  one  else,"  said 
Vera.  "  A  remarkable  feature  of  the  affair  is  the 
extraordinary  number  of  quite  respectable  people 
who  have  involved  themselves  in  its  meshes  by  try- 
ing to  shield  others.  You  would  be  really  astonished 
if  you  knew  some  of  the  names  of  the  individuals 
mixed  up  in  it,  and  I  don't  suppose  a  tithe  of  them 
knew  who  the  original  culprits  were  ;  and  now  I've 
got  you  entangled  in  the  mess  by  letting  you  into  the 
secret  of  the  cottage." 

"  You  most  certainly  have  not  entangled  me," 
said  Mrs.  Bebberly  Cumble  indignantly.  "  I  have 
no  intention  of  shielding  anybody.  The  police 
must  know  about  it  at  once  ;  a  theft  is  a  theft,  whoever 
is  involved.  If  respectable  people  choose  to  turn 
themselves  into  receivers  and  disposers  of  stolen  goods, 
well,  they've  ceased  to  be  respectable,  that's  all.  I 
shall  telephone  immediately " 

"  Oh,  aunt,"  said  Vera  reproachfully,  "  it  would 
break  the  poor  Canon's  heart  if  Cuthbert  were  to  be 
involved  in  a  scandal  of  this  sort.  You  know  it 
would." 

"Cuthbert  involved  !  How  can  you  say  such 
things  when  you  know  how  much  we  all  think  of 
him?" 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  think  a  lot  of  him,  and 
that  he's  engaged  to  marry  Beatrice,  and  that  it  will 
be  a  frightfully  good  match,  and  that  he's  your  ideal 
of  what  a  son-in-law  ought  to  be.  All  the  same,  it 
was  Cuthbcrt's  idea  to  stow  the  things  away  in  the 

144 


THE      QUINCE      TREE 

cottage,  and  it  was  his  motor  that  brought  them.  He 
was  only  doing  it  to  help  his  freind  Pegginson,  you 
know — the  Quaker  man,  who  is  always  agitating  for 
a  smaller  Navy.  I  forget  how  he  got  involved  in 
it.  I  warned  you  that  there  were  lots  of  quite  re- 
spectable people  mixed  up  in  it,  didn't  I  ?  That's 
what  I  meant  when  I  said  it  would  be  impossible  for 
old  Betsy  to  leave  the  cottage  ;  the  things  take  up 
a  good  bit  of  room,  and  she  couldn't  go  carrying  them 
about  with  her  other  goods  and  chattels  without  at- 
tracting notice.  Of  course  if  she  were  to  fall  ill  and 
die  it  would  be  equally  unfortunate.  Her  mother 
lived  to  be  over  ninety,  she  tells  me,  so  with  due 
care  and  an  absence  of  worry  she  ought  to  last  for 
another  dozen  years  at  least.  By  that  time  perhaps 
some  other  arrangements  will  have  been  made  for 
disposing  of  the  wretched  things." 

"  I  shall  speak  to  Cuthbert  about  it — after  the 
wedding,"  said  Mrs.  Bebberly  Cumble. 

"The  wedding  isn't  till  next  year,"  said  Vera, 
in  recounting  the  story  to  her  best  girl  friend,  "and 
meanwhile  old  Betsy  is  living  rent  free,  with  soup 
twice  a  week  and  my  aunt's  doctor  to  see  her  when- 
ever she  has  a  finger  ache." 

"  But  how  on  earth  did  you  get  to  know  about 
it  all  ?  "  asked  her  friend,  in  admiring  wonder. 

"  It  was  a  mystery "  said  Vera. 

"  Of  course  it  was  a  mystery,  a  mystery  that  baffled 
everybody.    What  beats  me  is  how  you  found  out " 

"  Oh,  about  the  jewels  ?    I  invented   that  part," 

explained  Vera  ;    "  I  mean  the  mystery  was  where 

old  Betsy's  arrears  of  rent  were  to  come  from  ;    and 

she  would  have  hated  leaving  that  jolly  quince  tree." 

H5 


THE       FORBIDDEN       BUZZARDS 

"  TS  matchmaking  at  all  in  your  line?" 

X  Hugo  Peterby  asked  the  question  with  a 
certain  amount  of  personal  interest. 

*'  I  don't  specialize  in  it,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  it's  all 
right  while  you're  doing  it,  but  the  after-effects 
are  sometimes  so  disconcerting — the  mute  reproach- 
ful looks  of  the  people  you've  aided  and  abetted  in 
matrimonial  experiments.  It's  as  bad  as  selling 
a  man  a  horse  with  half  a  dozen  latent  vices  and 
watching  him  discover  them  piecemeal  in  the  course  of 
the  hunting  season.  I  suppose  you're  thinking  of  the 
Coulterneb  girl.  She's  certainly  jolly,  and  quite  all 
right  as  far  as  looks  go,  and  I  believe  a  certain  amount 
of  money  adheres  to  her.  What  I  don't  see  is  how 
you  will  ever  manage  to  propose  to  her.  In  all  the 
time  I've  known  her  I  don't  remember  her  to  have 
stopped  talking  for  three  consecutive  minutes.  You'll 
have  to  race  her  six  times  round  the  grass  paddock 
for  a  bet,  and  then  blurt  your  proposal  out  before  she's 
got  her  wind  back.  The  paddock  is  laid  up  for  hay, 
but  if  you're  really  in  love  with  her  you  won't  let  a 
consideration  of  that  sort  stop  you,  especially  as  it's 
not  your  hay." 

"  I  think  I  could  manage  the  proposing  part  right 

enough,"   said    Hugo,   "if  I   could  count  on   being 

left  alone  with  her  for  four  or  five  hours.     The  trouble 

is  that  I'm  not  likely  to  get  anything  like  that  amount 

146 


THE       FORBIDDEN       BUZZARDS 

of  grace.  That  fellow  Lanner  is  showing  signs 
of  interesting  himself  in  the  same  quarter.  He's  quite 
heartbreakingly  rich  and  is  rather  a  swell  in  his  way  j 
in  fact,  our  hostess  is  obviously  a  bit  flattered  at  hav- 
ing him  here.  If  she  gets  wind  of  the  fact  that  he's 
inclined  to  be  attracted  by  Betty  Coulterneb  she'll 
think  it  a  splendid  match  and  throw  them  into  each 
other's  arms  all  day  long,  and  then  where  will  my 
opportunities  come  in  ?  My  one  anxiety  is  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  girl's  way  as  much  as  possible,  and 

if  you  could  help  me " 

"  If  you  want  me  to  trot  Lanner  round  the  coun- 
tryside, inspecting  alleged  Roman  remains  and  study- 
ing local  methods  of  bee  culture  and  crop  raising, 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  oblige  you,"  said  Clovis.  "  You 
see,  he's  taken  something  like  an  aversion  to  me  since 
the  other  night  in  the  smoking-room." 

"  What  happened  in  the  smoking-room  ?  " 
*'  He  trotted  out  some  well-worn  chestnut  as  the 
latest  thing  in  good  stories,  and  I  remarked,  quite 
innocently,  that  I  never  could  remember  whether 
it  was  George  II.  or  James  II.  who  was  so  fond  of 
that  particular  story,  and  now  he  regards  me  with 
politely-draped  dislike.  I'll  do  my  best  for  you, 
if  the  opportunity  arises,  but  it  will  have  to  be  in  a 
roundabout,  impersonal  manner." 

"  It's  so  nice  having  Mr.  Lanner  here,'*  confided 
Mrs.  Olston  to  Clovis  the  next  afternoon;  "he's 
always  been  engaged  when  I've  asked  him  before. 
Such  a  nice  man  ;  he  really  ought  to  be  married 
to  some  nice  girl.  Between  you  and  me,  I  have  an 
idea  that  he  came  down  here  for  a  certain  reason." 

"  I've    had    much    the    same    idea,"    said    Clovis, 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

lowering  his  voice;    "in  fact,  I'm  almost  certain  of 
it." 

"  You  mean  he's  attracted  by "  began  Mrs. 

Olston  eagerly. 

"  I  mean  he's  here  for  what  he  can  get,"  said  Clovis. 

"  For  what  he  can  get  ?  "  said  the  hostess  with  a 
touch  of  indignation  in  her  voice  ;  "  what  do  you 
mean  ?  He's  a  very  rich  man.  What  should  he 
want  to  get  here  \  " 

"  He  has  one  ruling  passion,"  said  Clovis,  "  and 
there's  something  he  can  get  here  that  is  not  to  be 
had  for  love  nor  for  money  anywhere  else  in  the 
country,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  But  what  ?  Whatever  do  you  mean  ?  What 
is  his  ruling  passion  ?  " 

"  Egg-collecting,"  said  Clovis.  "  He  has  agents 
all  over  the  world  getting  rare  eggs  for  him,  and  his 
collection  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe  ;  but  his  great 
ambition  is  to  collect  his  treasures  personally.  He 
stops  at  no  expense  nor  trouble  to  achieve  that  end." 

"  Good  heavens  !  The  buzzards,  the  rough- 
legged  buzzards  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Olston  ;  "  you 
don't  think  he's  going  to  raid  their  nest  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  yourself  ?  "  asked  Clovis  ; 
*'  the  only  pair  of  rough-legged  buzzards  known  to 
breed  in  this  country  are  nesting  in  your  woods. 
Very  few  people  know  about  them,  but  as  a  member 
of  the  league  for  protecting  rare  birds  that  informa- 
tion would  be  at  his  disposal.  I  came  down  in  the 
train  with  him,  and  I  noticed  that  a  bulky  volume  of 
Dresser's  Birds  of  Europe  was  one  of  the  requisites 
that  he  had  packed  in  his  travelling-kit.  It  was  the 
volume  dealing  with  short-winged  hawks  and  buz- 
zards." 

148 


THE       FORBIDDEN       BUZZARDS 

Clovis  believed  that  if  a  lie  was  worth  telling  it 
was  worth  telling  well. 

"  This  is  appalling,"  said  Mrs.  Olston  ;  "  my 
husband  would  never  forgive  me  if  anything  happened 
to  those  birds.  They've  been  seen  about  the  woods 
for  the  last  year  or  two,  but  this  is  the  first  time 
they've  nested.  As  you  say,  they  are  almost  the 
only  pair  known  to  be  breeding  in  the  whole  of 
Great  Britain ;  and  now  their  nest  is  going  to  be 
harried  by  a  guest  staying  under  my  roof  I  must 
do  something  to  stop  it.  Do  you  think  if  I  appealed  to 
him ?" 

Clovis  laughed. 

"  There  is  a  story  going  about,  which  I  fancy  is 
true  in  most  of  its  details,  of  something  that  hap- 
pened not  long  ago  somewhere  on  the  coast  of  the 
Sea  of  Marmora,  in  which  our  friend  had  a  hand. 
A  Syrian  nightjar,  or  some  such  bird,  was  known 
to  be  breeding  in  the  olive  gardens  of  a  rich  Armenian, 
who  for  some  reason  or  other  wouldn't  allow  Lanner 
to  go  in  and  take  the  eggs  though  he  offered  cash 
down  for  the  permission.  The  Armenian  was  found 
beaten  nearly  to  death  a  day  or  two  later,  and  his 
fences  levelled.  It  was  assumed  to  be  a  case  of 
Mussulman  aggression,  and  noted  as  such  in  all  the 
Consular  reports,  but  the  eggs  are  in  the  Lanner 
collection.  No,  I  don't  think  I  should  appeal  «^o 
his  better  feelings  if  I  were  you." 

"  I  must  do  something,"  said  Mrs.  Olston  tear- 
fully ;  my  husband's  parting  words  when  he  went 
off  to  Norway  were  an  injunction  to  see  that  those 
birds  were  not  disturbed,  and  he's  asked  about  them 
every  time  he's  written.     Do  suggest  something^" 

"  1  was  going  to  suggest  picketing,"  said  Clovis. 
149 


BEASTS       AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Picketing  !  You  mean  setting  guards  round 
the  birds  ?  " 

"  No  ;  round  Lanner.  He  can't  find  his  way 
through  those  woods  by  night,  and  you  could  arrange 
that  you  or  Evelyn  or  Jack  or  the  German  governess 
should  be  by  his  side  in  relays  all  day  long.  A  fellow 
guest  he  could  get  rid  of,  but  he  couldn't  very  well 
shake  off  members  of  the  household,  and  even  the 
most  determined  collector  would  hardly  go  climbing 
after  forbidden  buzzards'  eggs  with  a  German  govern- 
ness  hanging  round  his  neck,  so  to  speak." 

Lanner,  who  had  been  lazily  watching  for  an 
opportunity  for  prosecuting  his  courtship  of  the  Coul- 
terneb  girl,  found  presently  that  his  chances  of  getting 
her  to  himself  for  ten  minutes  even  were  non-existent. 
If  the  girl  was  ever  alone  he  never  was.  His  hostess 
had  changed  suddenly,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
from  the  desirable  type  that  lets  her  guests  do  nothing 
in  the  way  that  best  pleases  them,  to  the  sort  that 
drags  them  over  the  ground  like  so  many  harrows. 
She  showed  him  the  herb  garden  and  the  green- 
houses, the  village  church,  some  water-colour  sketches 
that  her  sister  had  done  in  Corsica,  and  the  place 
where  it  was  hoped  that  celery  would  grow  later  in 
the  year.  He  was  shown  all  the  Aylesbury  ducklings 
and  the  row  of  wooden  hives  where  there  would  have 
been  bees  if  there  had  not  been  bee  disease.  He  was 
also  taken  to  the  end  of  a  long  lane  and  shown  a 
distant  mound  whereon  local  tradition  reported  that 
the  Danes  had  once  pitched  a  camp.  And  when 
his  hostess  had  to  desert  him  temporarily  for  other 
duties  he  would  find  Evelyn  walking  solemnly  by 
his  side.  Evelyn  was  fourteen  and  talked  chiefly 
about  good  and  evil,  and  of  how  much  one  might 
150 


THE       FORBIDDEN       BUZZARDS 

accomplish  in  the  way  of  regenerating  the  world 
if  one  was  thoroughly  determined  to  do  one's  utmost. 
It  was  generally  rather  a  relief  when  she  was  dis- 
placed by  Jack,  who  was  nine  years  old,  and  talked 
exclusively  about  the  Balkan  War  without  throwing 
any  fresh  light  on  its  political  or  military  history. 
The  German  governess  told  Lanner  more  about  Schiller 
than  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life  about  any  one  person  ; 
it  was  perhaps  his  own  fault  for  having  told  her  that  he 
was  not  interested  in  Goethe.  When  the  governess 
went  off  picket  duty  the  hostess  was  again  on  hand 
with  a  not-to-be-gainsaid  invitation  to  visit  the  cottage 
of  an  old  woman  who  remembered  Charles  James  Fox  ; 
the  woman  had  been  dead  for  two  or  three  years. 
but  the  cottage  was  still  there.  Lanner  was  called 
back  to  town  earlier  than  he  had  originally  intended. 

Hugo  did  not  bring  off  his  affair  with  Betty  Coul- 
terneb.  Whether  she  refused  him  or  whether,  as 
was  more  generally  supposed,  he  did  not  get  a  chance 
of  saying  three  consecutive  words,  has  never  been 
exactly  ascertained.  Anyhow,  she  is  still  the  jolly 
Coulternebgirl. 

The  buzzards  successfully  reared  two  young  ones, 
which  were  shot  by  a  local  hairdresser. 


151 


THE      STAKE 

•*  TJ  ONNIE  is  a  great  trial  to  me,"  said   Mrs. 

Xv  Attray  plaintively.  "  Only  eighteen  years 
old  last  February  and  already  a  confirmed  gambler. 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know  where  he  inherits  it  from  ; 
his  father  never  touched  cards,  and  you  know  how 
little  I  play — a  game  of  bridge  on  Wednesday  after- 
noons in  the  winter,  for  threepence  a  hundred, 
and  even  that  I  shouldn't  do  if  it  wasn't  that  Edith 
always  wants  a  fourth  and  could  be  certain  to  ask 
that  detestable  Jenkinham  woman  if  she  couldn't  get 
me.  I  would  much  rather  sit  and  talk  any  day 
than  play  bridge  ;  cards  are  such  a  waste  of  time, 
I  think.  But  as  to  Ronnie,  bridge  and  baccarat 
and  poker-patience  are  positively  all  that  he  thinks 
about.  Of  course  I've  done  my  best  to  stop  it ; 
I've  asked  the  Norridrums  not  to  let  him  play  cards 
when  he's  over  there,  but  you  might  as  well  ask 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  keep  quiet  for  a  crossing  as 
expect  them  to  bother  about  a  mother's  natural 
anxieties." 

"  Why  do  you  let  him  go  there  ?  "  asked  Eleanor 
Saxelby. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Attray,  "  I  don't  want  to 
offend  them.  After  all,  they  arc  my  landlords  and 
I  have  to  look  to  them  for  anything  I  want  done 
about  the  place  ;  they  were  very  accommodating 
about  the  new  roof  for  the  orchid  house.  And  they 
152 


THE      STAKE 

lend  me  one  of  their  cars  when  mine  is  out  of  order  } 
you  know  how  often  it  gets  out  of  order." 

"  I  don't  know  how  often,"  said  Eleanor,  "  but  it 
must  happen  very  frequently.  Whenever  I  want  you 
to  take  me  anywhere  in  your  car  I  am  always  told 
that  there  is  something  wrong  with  it,  or  else  that 
that  the  chauffeur  has  got  neuralgia  and  you  don't 
like  to  ask  him  to  go  out." 

"  He  suffers  quite  a  lot  from  neuralgia,"  said  Mrs. 
Attray  hastily.  "  Anyhow,"  she  continued,  "  you 
can  understand  that  I  don't  want  to  offend  the  Norri- 
drums.  Their  household  is  the  most  rackety  one 
in  the  county,  and  I  believe  no  one  ever  knows  to 
an  hour  or  two  when  any  particular  meal  will  appear 
on  the  table  or  what  it  will  consist  of  when  it  does 
appear." 

Eleanor  Saxelby  shuddered.  She  liked  her  meals 
to  be  of  regular  occurrence  and  assured  proportions. 

"  Still,"  pursued  Mrs.  Attray,  "  whatever  their 
own  home  life  may  be,  as  landlords  and  neighbours 
they  are  considerate  and  obliging,  so  I  don't  want  to 
quarrel  with  them.  Besides,  if  Ronnie  didn't  play 
cards  there  he'd  be  playing  somewhere  else." 

"  Not  if  you  were  firm  with  him,"  said  Eleanor  } 
"  I  believe  in  being  firm." 

"  Firm  ?  I  am  firm,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Attray  ) 
"  I  am  more  than  firm — I  am  farseeing.  I've  done 
everything  I  can  think  of  it  to  prevent  Ronnie  from 
playing  for  money.  I've  stopped  his  allowance 
for  the  rest  of  the  year,  so  he  can't  even  gamble  on 
credit,  and  I've  subscribed  a  lump  sum  to  the  church 
offertory  in  his  name  instead  of  giving  him  instalments 
of  small  silver  to  put  in  the  bag  on  Sundays.  I  wouldn't 
even  let  him  have  the  money  to  tip  the  hunt  servants 
153 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

with,  but  sent  it  by  postal  order.  He  was  furiously 
sulky  about  it,  but  I  reminded  him  of  what  happened 
to  the  ten  shillings  that  I  gave  him  for  the  Young 
Men's  Endeavour  League  '  Self-Denial  Week.'  " 

"  What  did  happen  to  it  ?  "  asked  Eleanor. 

"  Well,  Ronnie  did  some  preliminary  endeavour- 
ing with  it,  on  his  own  account,  in  connection  with 
the  Grand  National.  If  it  had  come  off,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  he  would  have  given  the  League  twenty- 
five  shillings  and  netted  a  comfortable  commission  for 
himself ;  as  it  was,  that  ten  shillings  was  one  of  the 
things  the  League  had  to  deny  itself.  Since  then 
I've  been  careful  not  to  let  him  have  a  penny  piece 
in  his  hands." 

"  He'll  get  round  that  in  some  way,"  said  Eleanor 
with  quiet  conviction  ;    *'  he'll  sell  things." 

"  My  dear,  he's  done  all  that  is  to  be  done  in  that 
direction  already.  He's  got  rid  of  his  wrist-watch 
and  his  hunting  flask  and  both  his  cigarette  cases, 
and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he's  wearing  imita- 
tion-gold sleeve  links  instead  of  those  his  Aunt  Rhoda 
gave  him  on  his  seventeenth  birthday.  He  can't  sell 
his  clothes,  of  course,  except  his  winter  overcoat, 
and  I've  locked  that  up  in  the  camphor  cupboard  on 
the  pretext  of  preser\^ing  it  from  moth.  I  really 
don't  see  what  else  he  can  raise  money  on.  I  con- 
sider that  I've  been  both  firm  and  farseeing." 

"  Has  he  been  at  the  Norridrums  lately  ?  "  asked 
Eleanor. 

"He  was  there  yesterday  afternoon  and  stayed 
to  dinner,"  said  Mrs.  Attray.  "  I  don't  quite  know 
when  he  came  home,  but  I  fancy  it  was  late." 

"  Then  depend  on  it  he  was  gambling,"  said  Elcaiior, 
with  the  assured  air  of  one  who  has  few  ideas  and 

154 


THE      STAKE 

makes  the  most  of  them.  "  Late  hours  in  the  country 
always  mean  gambling." 

"  He  can't  gamble  if  he  has  no  money  and  no 
chance  of  getting  any,"  argued  Mrs.  Attray  ;  "  even 
if  one  plays  for  small  stakes  one  must  have  a  decent 
prospect  of  paying  one's  losses." 

"  He  may  have  sold  some  of  the  Amherst  pheasant 
chicks,"  suggested  Eleanor ;  "  they  would  fetch  about 
ten  or  twelve  shillings  each,  I  dare  say." 

"  Ronnie  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing,"  said  Mrs. 
Attray  ;  "  and  anyhow  I  went  and  counted  them  this 
morning  and  they're  all  there.  No,"  she  continued, 
with  the  quiet  satisfaction  that  comes  from  a  sense 
of  painstaking  and  merited  achievement,  "  I  fancy 
that  Ronnie  had  to  content  himself  with  the  role 
of  onlooker  last  night,  as  far  as  the  card-table  was 
concerned." 

"  Is  that  clock  right  ? "  asked  Eleanor,  whose 
eyes  had  been  straying  restlessly  towards  the  mantel- 
piece for  some  little  time  ;  "  lunch  is  usually  so 
punctual  in  your  establishment." 

"  Three  minutes  past  the  half-hour,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Attray  ;  "  cook  must  be  preparing  something 
unusually  sumptuous  in  your  honour.  I  am  not 
in  the  secret ;  I've  been  out  all  the  morning,  you 
know." 

Eleanor  smiled  forgivingly.  A  special  effort  by 
Mrs.  Attray's  cook  was  worth  waiting  a  few  minutes 
for. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  luncheon  fare,  when  it 
made  its  tardy  appearance,  was  distinctly  unworthy 
of  the  reputation  which  the  justly-treasured  cook  had 
built  up  for  herself.  The  soup  alone  would  have 
sufficed  to  cast  a  gloom  over  any  meal  that  it  had 
155 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

inaugurated,  and  it  was  not  redeemed  by  anything 
that  followed.  Eleanor  said  little,  but  when  she 
spoke  there  was  a  hint  of  tears  in  her  voice  that  was 
far  more  eloquent  than  outspoken  denunciation  would 
have  been,  and  even  the  insouciant  Ronald  showed 
traces  of  depression  when  he  tasted  the  rognons 
Saltikoff, 

"  Not  quite  the  best  luncheon  I've  enjoyed  in  your 
house,"  said  Eleanor  at  last,  when  her  final  hope 
had  flickered  out  with  the  savoury. 

"  My  dear,  it's  the  worst  meal  I've  sat  down  to 
for  years,"  said  her  hostess  ;  "  that  last  dish  tasted 
principally  of  red  pepper  and  wet  toast.  I'm  aw- 
fully sorry.  Is  anything  the  matter  in  the  kitchen, 
Pellin  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  attendant  maid. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  the  new  cook  hadn't  hardly  time 

to  see  to  things  properly,  coming  in  so  sudden " 

commenced  Pellin  by  way  of  explanation. 

"  The  new  cook  I  "  screamed  Mrs.  Attray. 

"  Colonel  Norridrum's  cook,  ma'am,"  said  Pellin. 

*'  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  .?  What  is  Colonel 
Norridrum's  cook  doing  in  my  kitchen — and  where 
is  my  cook  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can  explain  better  than  Pellin  can," 
said  Ronald  hurriedly  ;  "  the  fact  is,  I  was  dining 
at  the  Norridrums'  yesterday,  and  they  were  wishing 
they  had  a  swell  cook  like  yours,  just  for  to-day  and 
to-morrow,  while  they've  got  some  gourmet  staying 
with  them  ;  their  own  cook  is  no  earthly  good — well, 
you've  seen  what  she  turns  out  when  she's  at  all 
flurried.  So  I  thought  it  would  be  rather  sporting 
to  play  them  at  baccarat  for  the  loan  of  our  cook 
against  a  money  stake,  and  I  lost,  that's  all.  I  have 
had  rotten  luck  at  baccarat  all  this  year." 
156 


THE      STAKE 

The  remainder  of  his  explanation,  of  how  he  had 
assured  the  cooks  that  the  temporary  transfer  had 
his  mother's  sanction,  and  had  smuggled  the  one  out 
and  the  other  in  during  the  maternal  absence,  was 
drowned  in  the  outcry  of  scandalized  upbraiding. 

"  If  I  had  sold  the  woman  into  slavery  there  couldn't 
have  been  a  bigger  fuss  about  it,"  he  confided  after- 
wards to  Bertie  Norridrum,  "  and  Eleanor  Saxelby 
raged  and  ramped  the  louder  of  the  two.  I  tell 
you  what,  I'll  bet  you  two  of  the  Amherst  pheasants 
to  five  shillings  that  she  refuses  to  have  me  as  a  partner 
at  the  croquet  tournament.  We're  drawn  together, 
you  know." 

This  time  he  won  his  bet 


^57 


CLOVIS       ON       PARENTAL 
RESPONSIBILITIES 

MARION  EGGELBY  ^at  talking  to  Clovis 
on  the  only  subject  that  she  ever  willingly 
talked  about — her  offspring  and  their  varied  per- 
fections and  accomplishments.  Clovis  was  not  in 
what  could  be  called  a  receptive  mood  ;  the  younger 
generation  of  Eggelby,  depicted  in  the  glowing  im- 
probable colours  of  parent  impressionism,  aroused  in 
him  no  enthusiasm,  Mrs.  Eggelby,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  furnished  with  enthusiasm  enough  for  two. 

"  You  would  like  Eric,"  she  said,  argumentatively 
rather  than  hopefully.  Clovis  had  intimated  very 
unmistakably  that  he  was  unlikely  to  care  extrava- 
gantly for  either  Amy  or  Willie.  "  Yes,  I  feel  sure 
you  would  like  Eric.  Every  one  takes  to  him  at 
once.  You  know,  he  always  reminds  me  of  that 
famous  picture  of  the  youthful  David — I  forget  who 
it's  by,  but  it's  very  well  known." 

"  That  would  be  sufficient  to  set  me  against  him, 
if  I  saw  much  of  him,"  said  Clovis.  "Just  imagine 
at  auction  bridge,  for  instance,  when  one  was  trying  to 
concentrate  one's  mind  on  what  one's  partner's  original 
declaration  had  been,  and  to  remember  what  suits  one's 
opponents  had  originally  discarded,  what  it  would  be 
like  to  have  some  one  persistently  reminding  one  of 
a  picture  of  the  youthful  David.  It  would  be  simply 
maddening.  If  Eric  did  that  I  should  detcst  him." 
158 


PARENTAL      RESPONSIBILITIES 

"Eric  doesn't  play  bridge,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby 
with  dignity. 

"  Doesn't  he  ?  "  asked  Clovis  ;    "  why  not  ?  " 

"  None  of  my  children  have  been  brought  up  to 
play  card  games,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby  ;  "  draughts 
and  halma  and  those  sorts  of  games  I  encourage. 
Eric  is  considered  quite  a  wonderful  draughts-player." 

"  You  are  strewing  dreadful  risks  in  the  path  of 
your  family,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  a  friend  of  mine  who 
is  a  prison  chaplain  told  me  that  among  the  worst 
criminal  cases  that  have  come  under  his  notice,  men 
condemned  to  death  or  to  long  periods  of  penal  servi- 
tude, there  was  not  a  single  bridge-player.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  knew  at  least  two  expert  draughts- 
players  among  them." 

"  I  really  don't  see  what  my  boys  have  got  to  do 
with  the  criminal  classes,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby  resent- 
fully. "  They  have  been  most  carefully  brought  up, 
I  can  assure  you  that." 

"That  shows  that  you  were  nervous  as  to  how 
they  would  turn  out,"  said  Clovis.  "  Now,  my 
mother  never  bothered  about  bringing  me  up.  She 
just  saw  to  it  that  I  got  whacked  at  decent  intervals 
and  was  taught  the  difference  between  right  and 
wrong  ;  there  is  some  difference,  you  know,  but  I've 
forgotten  what  it  is." 

"  Forgotten  the  difference  between  right  and 
wrong  1  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eggelby. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  took  up  natural  history  and  a 
whole  lot  of  other  subjects  at  the  same  time,  and 
one  can't  remember  everything,  can  one  .?  I  used 
to  know  the  difference  between  the  Sardinian  dor- 
mouse and  the  ordinary  kind,  and  whether  the  wry- 
neck arrives  at  our  shores  earlier  than  the  cuckoo, 
159 


"BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

or  the  other  way  round,  and  how  long  the  walrus 
takes  in  growing  to  maturity  ;  I  dare  say  you  knew 
all  those  sorts  of  thing  once,  but  I  bet  you've  for- 
gotten them." 

"Those  things  are  not  important,"  said  Mrs. 
Eggelby,  "  but " 

"  The  fact  that  we've  both  forgotten  them  proves 
that  they  are  important,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  you  must 
have  noticed  that  it's  always  the  important  things 
that  one  forgets,  while  the  trivial,  unnecessary  facts 
of  life  stick  in  one's  memory.  There's  my  cousin, 
Editha  Clubberley,  for  instance ;  I  can  never  forget 
that  her  birthday  is  on  the  I2th  of  October.  It's 
a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to  me  on  what  date 
her  birthday  falls,  or  whether  she  was  born  at  all ; 
either  fact  seems  to  me  absolutely  trivial,  or  unneces- 
sary— I've  heaps  of  other  cousins  to  go  on  with. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  I'm  staying  with  Hilde- 
garde  Shrubley  I  can  never  remember  the  important 
circumstance  whether  her  first  husband  got  his  un- 
enviable reputation  on  the  Turf  or  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, and  that  uncertainty  rules  Sport  and  Finance 
out  of  the  conversation  at  once.  One  can  never 
mention  travel,  either,  because  her  second  husband  had 
to  live  permanently  abroad." 

"  Mrs,  Shrubley  and  I  move  in  very  different 
circles,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby  stiffly. 

"  No  one  who  knows  Hildegarde  could  possibly 
accuse  her  of  moving  in  a  circle,"  said  Clovis  ;  "  her 
view  of  life  seems  to  be  a  non-stop  run  with  an  inex- 
haustible supply  of  petrol.  If  she  can  get  some  one 
else  to  pay  for  the  petrol  so  much  the  better.  I 
don't  mind  confessing  to  you  that  she  has  taught  me 
more  than  any  other  woman  I  can  think  of." 
i6o 


PARENTAL      RESPONSIBILITIES 

•'  What  kind  of  knowledge  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Eg- 
gelby,  with  the  air  a  jury  might  collectively  wear 
when  finding  a  verdict  without  leaving  the  box. 

"  Well,  among  other  things,  she's  introduced  me 
to  at  least  four  different  ways  of  cooking  lobster," 
said  Clovis  gratefully.  "That,  of  course,  wouldn't 
appeal  to  you  ;  people  who  abstain  from  the  pleasures 
of  the  card-table  never  really  appreciate  the  finer 
possibilities  of  the  dining-table.  I  suppose  their  powers 
of  enlightened  enjoyment  get  atrophied  from  disuse." 

"  An  aunt  of  mine  was  very  ill  after  eating  a  lob- 
ster," said  Mrs.  Eggelby. 

"  I  dare  say,  if  we  knew  more  of  her  history,  we 
should  find  out  that  she'd  often  been  ill  before  eating 
the  lobster.  Aren't  you  concealing  the  fact  that 
she'd  had  measles  and  influenza  and  nervous  head- 
ache and  hysteria,  and  other  things  that  aunts  do 
have,  long  before  she  ate  the  lobster  ?  Aunts  that 
have  never  known  a  day's  illness  are  very  rare  ;  in 
fact,  I  don't  personally  know  of  any.  Of  course 
if  she  ate  it  as  a  child  of  two  weeks  old  it  might  have 
been  her  first  illness — and  her  last.  But  if  that  was 
the  case  I  think  you  should  have  said  so." 

"  I  must  be  going,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby,  in  a  tone 
which  had  been  thoroughly  sterilized  of  even  per- 
functory regret. 

Clovis  rose  with  an  air  of  graceful  reluctance. 

"  I  have  so  enjoyed  our  little  talk  about  Eric," 
he  said  ;  "  I  quite  look  forward  to  meeting  him 
some  day." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  Eggelby  frostily  ;  the 
supplementary  remark  which  she  made  at  the  back 
of  her  throat  was 

*'  I'll  take  care  that  you  never  shall  !  " 
i6i 


A       HOLIDAY      TASK 

KENELM  JERTON  entered  the  dining-hall 
of  the  Golden  Galleon  Hotel  in  the  full  crush 
of  the  luncheon  hour.  Nearly  every  seat  was  occu- 
pied, and  small  additional  tables  had  been  brought  in, 
where  floor  space  permitted,  to  accommodate  late- 
comers, with  the  result  that  many  of  the  tables  were 
almost  touching  each  other.  Jerton  was  beckoned 
by  a  waiter  to  the  only  vacant  table  that  was  discernible, 
and  took  his  seat  with  the  uncomfortable  aiid  wholly 
groundless  idea  that  nearly  every  one  in  the  room  was 
staring  at  him.  He  was  a  youngish  man  of  ordinary 
appearance,  quiet  of  dress  and  unobtrusive  of  manner, 
and  he  could  never  wholly  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that 
a  fierce  light  of  public  scrutiny  beat  on  him  as  though 
he  had  been  a  notability  or  a  super-nut.  After  he 
had  ordered  his  lunch  there  came  the  unavoidable 
interval  of  waiting,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  stare 
at  the  flower-vase  on  his  table  and  to  be  stared  at 
(in  imagination)  by  several  flappers,  some  maturer 
beings  of  the  same  sex,  and  a  satirical-looking  Jew. 
In  order  to  carry  off  the  situation  with  some  appear- 
ance of  unconcern  he  became  spuriously  interested 
in  the  contents  of  the  flower-vase. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  those  roses,  d'you  know  ?  '* 
he  asked  the  waiter.  The  waiter  was  ready  at  all 
times  to  conceal  his  ignorance  concerning  items  of 
the  wine-list  or  menu ;  he  was  frankly  ignorant  as 
to  the  specific  name  of  the  roses. 
162 


A       HOLIDAY      TASK 

**  Amy  Silvester  Partington^^  said  a  voice  at  Jerton's 
elbow. 

The  voice  came  from  a  pleasant-faced,  vi^ell- 
dressed  young  woman  who  was  sitting  at  a  table 
that  almost  touched  Jerton's.  He  thanked  her 
hurriedly  and  nervously  for  the  information,  and 
made  some  inconsequent  remark  about  the  flowers. 

"  It  is  a  curious  thing,"  said  the  young  woman, 
"  that  I  should  be  able  to  tell  you  the  name  of  those 
roses  without  an  effort  of  memory,  because  if  you 
were  to  ask  me  my  name  I  should  be  utterly  unable 
to  give  it  to  you." 

Jerton  had  not  harboured  the  least  intention  of 
extending  his  thirst  for  name-labels  to  his  neighbour. 
After  her  rather  remarkable  announcement,  however, 
he  was  obliged  to  say  something  in  the  way  of  polite 
inquiry. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  lady,  "  I  suppose  it  is  a 
case  of  partial  loss  of  memory.  I  was  in  the  train 
coming  down  here  ;  my  ticket  told  me  that  I  had  come 
from  Victoria  and  was  bound  for  this  place.  I  had  a 
couple  of  five-pound  notes  and  a  sovereign  on  me, 
no  visiting  cards  or  any  other  means  of  identifica- 
tion, and  no  idea  as  to  who  I  am.  I  can  only  hazily 
recollect  that  I  have  a  title  j  I  am  Lady  Somebody 
— beyond  that  my  mind  is  a  blank." 

"  Hadn't  you  any  luggage  with  you  ?  "  asked  Jerton, 
''  "  That  is  what  I  didn't  know.  I  knew  the  name 
of  this  hotel  and  made  up  my  mind  to  come  here, 
and  when  the  hotel  porter  who  meets  the  trains 
asked  if  I  had  any  luggage  I  had  to  invent  a  dressing- 
bag  and  dress-basket ;  I  could  always  pretend  that 
they  had  gone  astray.  I  gave  him  the  name  of 
Smith,  and  presently  he  emerged  from  a  confused 
163 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

pile  of  luggage  and  passengers  with  a  dressing-bag 
and  dress-basket  labelled  Kestrel-Smith.  I  had  to 
take  them  ;    I  don't  see  what  else  I  could  have  done." 

Jerton  said  nothing,  but  he  rather  wondered  what 
the  lawful  owner  of  the  baggage  would  do. 

"  Of  course  it  was  dreadful  arriving  at  a  strange 
hotel  with  the  name  of  Kestrel-Smith,  but  it  would 
have  been  worse  to  have  arrived  without  luggage. 
Anyhow,  I  hate  causing  trouble." 

Jerton  had  visions  of  harassed  railway  officials 
and  distraught  Kestrel-Smiths,  but  he  made  no  at- 
tempt to  clothe  his  mental  picture  in  words.  The 
lady  continued  her  story. 

"  Naturally,  none  of  my  keys  would  fit  the  things, 
but  I  told  an  intelligent  page  boy  that  I  had  lost  my 
key-ring,  and  he  had  the  locks  forced  in  a  twinkling. 
Rather  too  intelligent,  that  boy  ;  he  will  probably 
end  in  Dartmoor.  The  Kestrel-Smith  toilet  tools 
aren't  up  to  much,  but  they  are  better  than  nothing." 

"  If  you  feel  sure  that  you  have  a  title,"  said  Jerton, 
"why  not  get  hold  of  a  peerage  and  go  right  through  it  ? " 

"  I  tried  that.  I  skimmed  through  the  list  of  the 
House  of  Lords  in  '  Whitaker,'  but  a  mere  printed 
string  of  name  conveys  awfully  little  to  one,  you 
know.  If  you  were  an  army  officer  and  had  lost 
your  identity  you  might  pore  over  the  Army  List 
for  months  without  finding  out  who  you  were.  I'm 
going  on  another  tack  ;  I'm  trying  to  find  out  by 
various  little  tests  who  I  am  not — that  will  narrow 
the  range  of  uncertainty  down  a  bit.  You  may  have 
noticed,  for  instance,  that  I'm  lunching  principally 
off  lobster  Newburg." 

Jerton  had  not  ventured  to  notice  anything  of 
the  sort. 

164 


A       HOLIDAY      TASK 

*'  It's  an  extravagance,  because  it's  one  of  the 
most  expensive  dishes  on  the  menu^  but  at  any  rate 
it  proves  that  I'm  not  Lady  Starping  ;  she  never 
touches  shell-fish,  and  poor  Lady  Braddleshrub  has 
no  digestion  at  all  ;  if  I  am  her  I  shall  certainly 
die  in  agony  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  and  the 
duty  of  finding  out  vv^ho  I  am  will  devolve  on  the 
press  and  the  police  and  those  sort  of  people  ;  I  shall 
be  past  caring.  Lady  Knewford  doesn't  knovi^  one 
rose  from  another  and  she  hates  men,  so  she  v^^ouldn't 
have  spoken  to  you  in  any  case  ;  and  Lady  Mousehil- 
ton  flirts  v/ith  every  man  she  meets — I  haven't  flirted 
vi^ith  you,  have  I  ?  " 

Jerton  hastily  gave  the  required  assurance. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  continued  the  lady,  "  that  knocks 
four  off  the  list  at  once." 

"  It'll  be  rather  a  lengthy  process  bringing  the  list 
down  to  one,"  said  Jerton. 

"  Oh,  but,  of  course,  there  are  heaps  of  them  that 
I  couldn't  possibly  be — women  who've  got  grand- 
children or  sons  old  enough  to  have  celebrated  their 
coming  of  age,  I've  only  got  to  consider  the  ones 
about  my  own  age,  I  tell  you  how  you  might  help 
me  this  afternoon,  if  you  don't  mind  ;  go  through 
any  of  the  back  numbers  of  Country  Life  and  those 
sort  of  papers  that  you  can  find  in  the  smoking-room, 
and  see  if  you  come  across  my  portrait  with  infant 
son  or  anything  of  that  sort.  It  won't  take  you 
ten  minutes.  I'll  meet  you  in  the  lounge  about 
tea-time.     Thanks  awfully." 

And  the  Fair  Unknown,  having  graciously  pressed 
Jerton  into  the  search  for  her  lost  identity,  rose  and 
left  the  room.     As  she  passed  the  young  man's  table 
she  halted  for  a  moment  and  whispered  : 
165 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Did  you  notice  that  I  tipped  the  waiter  a  shil- 
ling ?  We  can  cross  Lady  Ulwight  off  the  list  } 
she  would  have  died  rather  than  do  that." 

At  five  o'clock  Jerton  made  his  way  to  the  hotel 
lounge  ;  he  had  spent  a  diligent  but  fruitless  quarter 
of  an  hour  among  the  illustrated  weeklies  in  the 
smoking-room.  His  new  acquaintance  was  seated 
at  a  small  tea-table,  with  a  waiter  hovering  in  atten- 
dance. 

"  China  tea  or  Indian  ?  "  she  asked  as  Jerton  came 
up. 

"  China,  please,  and  nothing  to  eat.  Have  you 
discovered  anything  ?  " 

"  Only  negative  information.  I'm  not  Lady  Bef- 
nal.  She  disapproves  dreadfully  at  any  form  of  gam- 
bling, so  when  I  recognized  a  well-known  book-maker 
in  the  hotel  lobby  I  went  and  put  a  tenner  on  an 
unnamed  filly  by  William  the  Third  out  of  Mitrovitza 
for  the  three-fifteen  race.  I  suppose  the  fact  of  the 
animal  being  nameless  was  what  attracted  me." 

"  Did  it  win  ?  "  asked  Jerton. 

"No,  came  in  fourth,  the  most  irritating  thing  a 
horse  can  do  when  you've  backed  it  win  or  place.  Any- 
how, I  know  now  that  I'm  not  Lady  Befnal." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  knowledge  was  rather 
dearly  bought,"   commented  Jerton. 

"  Well,  yes,  it  has  rather  cleared  me  out,"  admitted 
the  identity-seeker  j  "  a  florin  is  about  all  I've  got 
left  on  me.  The  lobster  Newburg  made  my  lunch 
rather  an  expensive  one,  and,  of  course,  I  had  to 
tip  that  boy  for  what  he  did  to  the  Kestrel-Smith 
locks.  I've  got  rather  a  useful  idea,  though.  I  feel 
certain  that  I  belong  to  the  Pivot  Club  ;  I'll  go  back 
to  town  and  ask  the  hall  poner  there  if  there  are  any 
1 66 


A       HOLIDAY      TASK 

letters  for  me.  He  knows  all  the  members  by  sight^ 
and  if  there  are  any  letters  or  telephone  messages 
waiting  for  me  of  course  that  will  solve  the  problem. 
If  he  says  there  aren't  any,  I  shall  say  :  *  You  know 
who  I  am,  don't  you  ? '  so  I'll  find  out  anyway." 

The  plan  seemed  a  sound  one  ;  a  difficulty  in  its 
execution  suggested  itself  to  Jerton. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  lady,  when  he  hinted  at  the 
obstacle,  "  there's  my  fare  back  to  town,  and  my  bill 
here  and  cabs  and  things.  If  you'll  lend  me  three 
pounds  that  ought  to  see  me  through  comfortably. 
Thanks  ever  so.  Then  there  is  the  question  of  that 
luggage  :  I  don't  want  to  be  saddled  with  that  for 
the  rest  of  my  life.  I'll  have  it  brought  down  to  the 
hall  and  you  can  pretend  to  mount  guard  over  it 
while  I'm  writing  a  letter.  Then  I  shall  just  slip 
away  to  the  station,  and  you  can  wander  off  to  the 
smoking-room,  and  they  can  do  what  they  like  with 
the  things.  They'll  advertise  them  after  a  bit  and 
the  owner  can  claim  them." 

Jerton  acquiesced  in  the  manoeuvre,  and  duly 
mounted  guard  over  the  luggage  while  its  temporary 
owner  slipped  unobtrusively  out  of  the  hotel.  Her 
departure  was  not,  however,  altogether  unnoticed. 
Two  gentlemen  were  strolling  past  Jerton,  and  one  of 
them  remarked  to  the  other  : 

"  Did  you  see  that  tall  young  woman  in  grey 
who  went  out  just  now  ?     She  is  the  Lady " 

His  promenade  carried  him  out  of  earshot  at  the 
critical  moment  when  he  was  about  to  disclose  the 
elusive  identity.  The  Lady  Who  ?  Jerton  could 
scarcely  run  after  a  total  stranger,  break  into  his 
conversation,  and  ask  him  for  information  concerning 
a  chance  passer-by.  Besides,  it  was  desirable  that 
167 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

he  should  keep  up  the  appearance  of  looking  after 
the  luggage.  In  a  minute  or  two,  however,  the 
important  personage,  the  man  who  knew,  came  strol- 
ling back  alone.  Jerton  summoned  up  all  his  courage 
and  waylaid  him. 

"  I  think  I  heard  you  say  you  knew  the  lady  who 
went  out  of  the  hotel  a  few  minutes  ago,  a  tall  lady, 
dressed  in  grey.  Excuse  me  for  asking  if  you  could 
tell  me  her  name  ;  I've  been  talking  to  her  for  half 
an  hour  ;  she — er — she  knows  all  my  people  and  seems 
to  know  me,  so  I  suppose  I've  met  her  somewhere 
before,  but  I'm  blest  if  I  can  put  a  name  to  her.  Could 
you ?  " 

"  Certainly.     She's  a  Mrs.  Stroope  " 

"  Mrs.  ?  "  queried  Jerton. 

"  Yes,  she's  the  Lady  Champion  at  golf  in  my  part 
of  the  world.  An  awful  good  sort,  and  goes  about 
a  good  deal  in  Society,  but  she  has  an  awkward  habit 
of  losing  her  memory  every  now  and  then,  and  gets 
into  all  sorts  of  fixes.  She's  furious,  too,  if  you  make 
any  allusion  to  it  afterwards.     Good  day,  sir." 

The  stranger  passed  on  his  way,  and  before  Jerton 
had  had  time  to  assimilate  his  information  he  found 
his  whole  attention  centred  on  an  angry-looking  lady 
who  was  making  loud  and  fretful-seeming  inquiries 
of  the  hotel  clerks. 

"  Has  any  luggage  been  brought  here  from  the 
station  by  mistake,  a  dress- basket  and  dressing-case, 
with  the  name  Kestrel-Smith  ?  It  can't  be  traced 
anywhere.  I  saw  it  put  in  at  Victoria,  that  I'll 
swear.  Why — there  is  my  luggage  !  and  the  locks 
have  been  tampered  with  !  " 

Jerton  heard  no  more.      He  fled  down  to  the  Tur- 
kish bath,  and  stayed  there  for  hours. 
i68 


THE       STALLED       OX 

THEOPHIL  ESHLEY  was  an  artist  by  pro- 
fession, a  cattle  painter  by  force  of  environ- 
ment. It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  lived  on  a 
ranch  or  a  dairy  farm,  in  an  atmosphere  pervaded 
with  horn  and  hoof,  milking-stool,  and  branding-iron. 
His  home  was  in  a  park-like,  villa-dotted  district  that 
only  just  escaped  the  reproach  of  being  suburban. 
On  one  side  of  his  garden  there  abutted  a  small,  pic- 
turesque meadow,  in  which  an  enterprising  neighbour 
pastured  some  small  picturesque  cows  of  the  Channel 
Island  persuasion.  At  noonday  in  summertime  the 
cows  stood  knee-deep  in  tall  meadow-grass  under  the 
shade  of  a  group  of  walnut  trees,  with  the  sunlight 
falling  in  dappled  patches  on  their  mouse-sleek  coats. 
Eshley  had  conceived  and  executed  a  dainty  picture 
of  two  reposeful  milch-cows  in  a  setting  of  walnut- 
tree  and  meadow-grass  and  filtered  sunbeam,  and  the 
Royal  Academy  had  duly  exposed  the  same  on  the 
walls  of  its  Summer  Exhibition.  The  Royal  Academy 
encourages  orderly,  methodical  habits  in  its  children. 
Eshley  had  painted  a  successful  and  acceptable  picture 
of  cattle  drowsing  picturesquely  under  walnut  trees, 
and  as  he  had  begun,  so,  of  necessity,  he  went  on. 
His  "  Noontide  Peace,"  a  study  of  two  dun  cows 
under  a  walnut  tree,  was  followed  by  "  A  Mid-day 
Sanctuary,"  a  study  of  a  walnut  tree,  with  two  dun 
cows  under  it.  In  due  succession  there  came  "  Where 
169 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

the  Gad-Flies  Cease  from  Troubling,"  "  The  Haven 
of  the  Herd,"  and  "A  Dream  in  Dairyland,"  studies 
of  wahiut  trees  and  dun  cows.  His  two  attempts  to 
break  away  from  his  own  tradition  were  signal  failures  : 
*'  Turtle  Doves  alarmed  by  Sparrow-hawk "  and 
*'  Wolves  on  the  Roman  Campagna  "  came  back  to 
his  studio  in  the  guise  of  abominable  heresies,  and 
Eshley  climbed  back  into  grace  and  the  public  gaze 
with  "  A  Shaded  Nook  where  Drowsy  Milkers 
Dream." 

On  a  fine  afternoon  in  late  autumn  he  was  putting 
some  finishing  touches  to  a  study  of  meadow  weeds 
when  his  neighbour,  Adela  Pingsford,  assailed  the 
outer  door  of  his  studio  with  loud  peremptory  knock- 
ings. 

"  There  is  an  ox  in  my  garden,"  she  announced,  in 
explanation  of  the  tempestuous  intrusion. 

"  An  ox,"  said  Eshley  blankly,  and  rather  fatuously  } 
*'  what  kind  of  ox  .?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  kind,"  snapped  the  lady. 
"  A  common  or  garden  ox,  to  use  the  slang  expres- 
sion. It  is  the  garden  part  of  it  that  I  object  to. 
My  garden  has  just  been  put  straight  for  the  winter, 
and  an  ox  roaming  about  in  it  won't  improve  matters. 
Besides,  there  are  the  chrysanthemums  just  coming 
into  flower." 

"  How  did  it  get  into  the  garden  ?  "  asked  Eshley. 

"  I  imagine  it  came  in  by  the  gate,"  said  the  lady 
impatiently  ;  "  it  couldn't  have  climbed  the  walls, 
and  I  don't  suppose  anyone  dropped  it  from  an  areo- 
plane  as  a  Bovril  advertisement.  The  immediately 
important  question  is  not  how  it  got  in,  but  how  to 
get  it  out." 

"  Won't  it  go  ?  "  said  Eshley 
170 


THE       STALLED       OX 

**  If  it  was  anxious  to  go,"  said  Adela  Pingsford 
rather  angrily,  "  I  should  not  have  come  here  to  chat 
with  you  about  it.  I'm  practically  all  alone  ;  the 
housemaid  is  having  her  afternoon  out  and  the  cook 
is  lying  down  with  an  attack  of  neuralgia.  Any- 
thing that  I  may  have  learned  at  school  or  in  after 
life  about  how  to  remove  a  large  ox  from  a  small 
garden  seems  to  have  escaped  from  my  memory  now. 
All  I  could  think  of  was  that  you  were  a  near  neigh- 
bour and  a  cattle  painter,  presumably  more  or  less 
familiar  with  the  subjects  that  you  painted,  and  that 
you  might  be  of  some  slight  assistance.  Possibly  I 
was  mistaken." 

"  I  paint  dairy  cows,  certainly,"  admitted  Eshley, 
"but  I  cannot  claim  to  have  had  any  experience 
in  rounding  up  stray  oxen.  I've  seen  it  done  on  a 
cinema  film,  of  course,  but  there  were  always  horses 
and  lots  of  other  accessories  ;  besides,  one  never 
knows  how  much  of  those  pictures  are  faked." 

Adela  Pingsford  said  nothing,  but  led  the  way  to 
her  garden.  It  was  normally  a  fair-sized  garden,  but 
it  looked  small  in  comparison  with  the  ox,  a  huge 
mottled  brute,  dull  red  about  the  head  and  shoulders, 
passing  to  dirty  white  on  the  flanks  and  hind-quarters, 
with  shaggy  ears  and  large  blood-shot  eyes.  It  bore 
about  as  much  resemblance  to  the  dainty  paddock 
heifers  that  Eshley  was  accustomed  to  paint  as  the 
chief  of  a  Kurdish  nomad  clan  would  to  a  Japanese 
tea-shop  girl.  Eshley  stood  very  near  the  gate  while 
he  studied  the  animal's  appearance  and  demeanour. 
Adela  Pingsford  continued  to  say  nothing. 

"  It's  eating  a  chrysanthemum,"  said  Eshley  at 
last,  when  the  silence  had  become  unbearable. 

"  How   observant   you   are,"   said   Adela   bitterly. 
171 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  You  seem  to  notice  everything.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  has  got  six  chrysanthemums  in  its  mouth  at 
the  present  moment." 

The  necessity  for  doing  something  was  becoming 
imperative.  Eshley  took  a  step  or  two  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  animal,  clapped  his  hands,  and  made  noises 
of  the  "  Hish  "  and  "  Shoo "  variety.  If  the  ox 
heard  them  it  gave  no  outward  indication  of  the  fact. 

"  If  any  hens  should  ever  stray  into  my  garden," 
said  Adela,  "  I  should  certainly  send  for  you  to  frighten 
them  out.  You  *  shoo '  beautifully.  Meanwhile,  do 
you  mind  trying  to  drive  that  ox  away  ?  That  is  a 
Mademoiselle  Louise  Bichot  that  he's  begun  on  now," 
she  added  in  icy  calm,  as  a  glowing  orange  head  was 
crushed  into  the  huge  munching  mouth. 

"  Since  you  have  been  so  frank  about  the  variety 
of  the  chrysanthemum,"  said  Eshley,  "  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  this  is  an  Ayrshire  ox." 

The  icy  calm  broke  down  ;  Adela  Pingsford  used 
language  that  sent  the  artist  instinctively  a  few  feet 
nearer  to  the  ox.  He  picked  up  a  pea-stick  and 
flung  it  with  some  determination  against  the  animal's 
mottled  flanks.  The  operation  of  mashing  Made- 
moiselle Louis  Bichot  into  a  petal  salad  was  suspended 
for  a  long  moment,  while  the  ox  gazed  with  concen- 
trated inquiry  at  the  stick-thrower.  Adela  gazed 
with  equal  concentration  and  more  obvious  hostility 
at  the  same  focus.  As  the  beast  neither  lowered 
its  head  nor  stamped  its  feet  Eshley  ventured  on 
another  javelin  exercise  with  another  pea-stick.  The 
ox  seemed  to  realize  at  once  that  it  was  to  go  ;  it 
gave  a  hurried  final  pluck  at  the  bed  where  the  chry- 
santhemums had  been,  and  strode  swiftly  up  the 
garden.  Eshley  ran  to  head  it  towards  the  gate,  but 
172 


THE       STALLED       OX 

only  succeeded  in  quickening  its  pace  from  a  walk 
to  a  lumbering  trot.  With  an  air  of  inquiry,  but  with 
no  real  hesitation,  it  crossed  the  tiny  strip  of  turf 
that  the  charitable  called  the  croquet  lawn,  and  pushed 
its  way  through  the  open  French  window  into  the 
morning-room.  Some  chrysanthemums  and  other 
autumn  herbage  stood  about  the  room  in  vases,  and 
the  animal  resumed  its  browsing  operations  ;  all  the 
same,  Eshley  fancied  that  the  beginnings  of  a  hunted 
look  had  come  into  its  eyes,  a  look  that  counselled 
respect.  He  discontinued  his  attempt  to  interfere 
with  its  choice  of  surroundings. 

"  Mr.  Eshley,"  said  Adela  in  a  shaking  voice,  "  I 
asked  you  to  drive  that  beast  out  of  my  garden,  but 
I  did  not  ask  you  to  drive  it  into  my  house.  If  I 
must  have  it  anywhere  on  the  premises  I  prefer  the 
garden  to  the  morning-room." 

"  Cattle  drives  are  not  in  my  line,"  said  Eshley  ; 
"  if  I  remember  I  told  you  so  at  the  outset." 

"  I  quite  agree,"  retorted  the  lady,  "  painting 
pretty  pictures  of  pretty  little  cows  is  what  you're 
suited  for.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  do  a  nice  sketch 
of  that  ox  making  itself  at  home  in  my  morning- 
room  ?  " 

This  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  worm  had  turned  ; 
Eshley  began  striding  away. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  screamed  Adela. 

*'  To  fetch  implements,"  was  the  sanwer. 

"  Implements  ?  I  won't  have  you  use  a  lasso. 
The  room  will  be  wrecked  if  there's  a  struggle." 

But  the  artist  marched  out  of  the  garden.  In  a 
couple  of  minutes  he  returned,  laden  with  easel, 
sketching-stool,  and  painting  materials. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you're  going  to  sit 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

quietly  down  and  paint  that  brute  while  it's  destroy- 
ing my  morning-room  ?  "  gasped  Adela. 

"  It  was  your  suggestion,"  said  Eshley,  setting 
his  canvas  in  position. 

"  I  forbid  it  ;  I  absolutely  forbid  it  !  "  stormed 
Adela, 

"  I  don't  see  what  standing  you  have  in  the  matter," 
said  the  artist;  "you  can  hardly  pretend  that  it's  your 
ox,  even  by  adoption." 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  it's  in  my  morning-room, 
eating  my  flowers,"  came  the  raging  retort. 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  the  cook  has  neuralgia," 
said  Eshley;  "she  may  be  just  dozing  oflF  into  a 
merciful  sleep  and  your  outcry  will  waken  her.  Con- 
sideration for  others  should  be  the  guiding  principle 
of  people  in  our  station  of  life." 

"  The  man  is  mad  !  "  exclaimed  Adela  tragically. 
A  moment  later  it  was  Adela  herself  who  appeared 
to  go  mad.  The  ox  had  finished  the  vase- flowers 
and  the  cover  of  "  Israel  Kalisch,"  and  appeared 
to  be  thinking  of  leaving  its  rather  restricted  quarters. 
Eshley  noticed  its  restlessness  and  promptly  flung 
it  some  bunches  of  Virginia  creeper  leaves  as  an  induce- 
ment to  continue  the  sitting. 

"  I  forget  how  the  proverb  runs,"  he  observed  ; 
"  something  about  '  better  a  dinner  of  herbs  than  a 
stalled  ox  where  hate  is.'  We  seem  to  have  all  the 
ingredients  for  the  proverb  ready  to  hand." 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  Public  Library  and  get  them  to 
telephone  for  the  police,"  announced  Adela,  and, 
raging  audibly,  she  departed. 

Some  minutes  later  the  ox,  awakening  probably 
to  the  suspicion  that  oil  cake  and  chopped  mangold 
was  waiting  for  it  in  some  appointed  byre,  stepped 


THE      STALLED       OX 

with  much  precaution  out  of  the  morning-room, 
stared  with  grave  inquiry  at  the  no  longer  obtrusive 
and  pea-stick-throwing  human,  and  then  lumbered 
heavily  but  swiftly  out  of  the  garden.  Eshley  packed 
up  his  tools  and  followed  the  animal's  example  and 
*'  Larkdene  "  was  left  to  neuralgia  and  the  cook. 

The  episode  was  the  turning-point  in  Eshley's 
artistic  career.  His  remarkable  picture,  "  Ox  in  a 
morning-room,  late  autumn,"  was  one  of  the  sensa- 
tions and  successes  of  the  next  Paris  Salon,  and  when 
it  was  subsequently  exhibited  at  Munich  it  was  bought 
by  the  Bavarian  Government,  in  the  teeth  of  the 
spirited  bidding  of  three  meat-extract  firms.  From 
that  moment  his  success  was  continuous  and  assured, 
and  the  Royal  Academy  was  thankful,  two  years  later, 
to  give  a  conspicuous  position  on  its  walls  to  his  large 
canvas  "  Barbary  Apes  Wrecking  a  Boudoir." 

Eshley  presented  Adela  Pingsford  with  a  new  copy 
of  "  Israel  Kalisch  ,"  and  a  couple  of  finely  flowering 
plants  of  Madame  Andre  Blusset^  but  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  a  real  reconciliation  has  taken  place  between 
them. 


175 


THE      STORY-TELLER 

IT  was  a  hot  afternoon,  and  the  railway  carriage 
was  correspondingly  sultry,  and  the  next  stop  was 
at  Templecombe,  nearly  an  hour  ahead.  The  occu- 
pants of  the  carriage  were  a  small  girl,  and  a  smaller 
girl,  and  a  small  boy.  An  aunt  belonging  to  the 
children  occupied  one  corner  seat,  and  the  further 
corner  seat  on  the  opposite  side  was  occupied  by  a 
bachelor  who  was  a  stranger  to  their  party,  but  the 
small  girls  and  the  small  boy  emphatically  occupied 
the  compartment.  Both  the  aunt  and  the  children 
were  conversational  in  a  limited,  persistent  way, 
reminding  one  of  the  attentions  of  a  housefly  that 
refused  to  be  discouraged.  Most  of  the  aunt's  re- 
marks seemed  to  begin  with  "  Don't,"  and  nearly  all 
of  the  children's  remarks  began  with  "  Why  ?  '* 
The  bachelor  said  nothing  out  loud. 

"  Don't,  Cyril,  don't,"  exclaimed  the  aunt,  as  the 
small  boy  began  smacking  the  cushions  of  the  seat, 
producing  a  cloud  of  dust  at  each  blow, 

"  Come  and  look  out  of  the  window,"  she 
added. 

The  child  moved  reluctantly  to  the  window.  "  Why 
are  those  sheep  being  driven  out  of  that  field  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I  expect  they  are  being  driven  to  another  field 
where  there  is  more  grass,"  said  the  aunt  weakly. 

"  But  there  is  lots  of  grass  in  that  field,"  pro- 
176 


THE      STORY-TELLER 

tested  the  boy  ;   "  there's  nothing  else  but  grass  there. 
Aunt,  there's  lots  of  grass  in  that  field," 

"  Perhaps  the  grass  in  the  other  field  is  better," 
suggested  the  aunt  fatuously. 

"  Why  is  it  better  ? "  came  the  swift,  inevitable 
question. 

"  Oh,  look  at  those  cows  I "  exclaimed  the  aunt. 
Nearly  every  field  along  the  line  had  contained  cows 
or  bullocks,  but  she  spoke  as  though  she  were  drawing 
attention  to  a  rarity. 

"  Why  is  the  grass  in  the  other  field  better  ?  ** 
persisted  Cyril. 

The  frown  on  the  bachelor's  face  was  deepening 
to  a  scowl.  He  was  a  hard,  unsympathetic  man,  the 
aunt  decided  in  her  mind.  She  was  utterly  unable 
to  come  to  any  satisfactory  decision  about  the  grass 
in  the  other  field. 

The  smaller  girl  created  a  diversion  by  beginning 
to  recite  "  On  the  Road  to  Mandalay."  She  only 
knew  the  first  line,  but  she  put  her  limited  knowledge 
to  the  fullest  possible  use.  She  repeated  the  line 
over  and  over  again  in  a  dreamy  but  resolute  and  very 
audible  voice  ;  it  seemed  to  the  bachelor  as  though 
some  one  had  had  a  bet  with  her  that  she  could  not 
repeat  the  hne  aloud  two  thousand  times  without 
stopping.  Whoever  it  was  who  had  made  the  wager 
was  likely  to  lose  his  bet. 

"  Come  over  here  and  listen  to  a  story,"  said  the 
aunt,  when  the  bachelor  had  looked  twice  at  her  and 
once  at  the  communication  cord. 

The  children  moved  listlessly  towards  the  aunt's 
end  of  the  carriage.  Evidently  her  reputation  as  a 
story-teller  did  not  rank  high  in  their  estimation. 

In  a  low,   confidential   voice,  interrupted  at   fre- 
177 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

quent  intervals  by  loud,  petulant  questions  from 
her  listeners,  she  began  an  unenterprising  and  deplor- 
ably uninteresting  story  about  a  little  girl  who  was 
good,  and  made  friends  with  every  one  on  account 
of  her  goodness,  and  was  finally  saved  from  a  mad 
bull  by  a  number  of  rescuers  who  admired  her  moral 
character. 

"  Wouldn't  they  have  saved  her  if  she  hadn't  been 
good  ?  "  demanded  the  bigger  of  the  small  girls.  It 
was  exactly  the  question  that  the  bachelor  had  wanted 
to  ask. 

"Well,  yes,"  admitted  the  aunt  lamely,  "but  I 
don't  think  they  would  have  run  quite  so  fast  to  her 
help  if  they  had  not  liked  her  so  much." 

"  It's  the  stupidest  story  I've  ever  heard,"  said 
the  bigger  of  the  small  girls,  with  immense  con- 
viction. 

"  I  didn't  listen  after  the  first  bit,  it  was  so  stupid," 
said  Cyril. 

The  smaller  girl  made  no  actual  comment  on  the 
story,  but  she  had  long  ago  recommenced  a  mur- 
mured repetition  of  her  favourite  line. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  a  success  as  a  story-teller," 
said  the  bachelor  suddenly  from  his  corner. 

The  aunt  bristled  in  instant  defence  at  this  unex- 
pected  attack. 

"  It's  a  very  difficult  thing  to  tell  stories  that  chil- 
dren can  both  understand  and  appreciate,"  she  said 
stiffly. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  the  bachelor. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  tell  them  a  story," 
was  the  aunt's  retort. 

"  Tell  us  a  story,"  demanded  the  bigger  of  the 
small  girls. 

178 


THE      STORY-TELLER 

*'  Once  upon  a  time,"  began  the  bachelor,  "  there 
was  a  little  girl  called  Bertha,  who  was  extraordinarily 
good." 

The  children's  momentarily-aroused  interest  began 
at  once  to  flicker ;  all  stories  seemed  dreadfully 
alike,  no  matter  who  told  them. 

"  She  did  all  that  she  was  told,  she  was  always 
truthful,  she  kept  her  clothes  clean,  ate  milk  pud- 
dings as  though  they  were  jam  tarts,  learned  her 
lessons  perfectly,  and  was  polite  in  her  manners." 

"  Was  she  pretty  ?  "  asked  the  bigger  of  the  small 
girls. 

"  Not  as  pretty  as  any  of  you,"  said  the  bachelor, 
"  but  she  was  horribly  good." 

There  was  a  wave  of  reaction  in  favour  of  the 
story  ;  the  word  horrible  in  connection  with  goodness 
was  a  novelty  that  commended  itself.  It  seemed 
to  introduce  a  ring  of  truth  that  was  absent  from 
the  aunt's  tales  of  infant  life. 

"  She  was  so  good,"  continued  the  bachelor,  "  that 
she  won  several  medals  for  goodness,  which  she  always 
wore,  pinned  on  to  her  dress.  There  was  a  medal 
for  obedience,  another  medal  for  punctuality,  and  a 
third  for  good  behaviour.  They  were  large  metal 
medals  and  they  clicked  against  one  another  as  she 
walked.  No  other  child  in  the  town  where  she 
lived  had  as  many  as  three  medals,  so  everybody  knew 
that  she  must  be  an  extra  good  child." 

"  Horribly  good,"  quoted  Cyril. 

"  Everybody  talked  about  her  goodness,  and  the 
Prince  of  the  country  got  to  hear  about  it,  and  he 
said  that  as  she  was  so  very  good  she  might  be  allowed 
once  a  week  to  walk  in  his  park,  which  was  just 
outside  the  town.  It  was  a  beautiful  park,  and  no 
179 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

children  were  ever  allowed  in  it,  so  it  was  a  great 
honour  for  Bertha  to  be  allowed  to  go  there." 

"  Were  there  any  sheep  in  the  park  ?  "  demanded 
Cyril. 

"  No,"  said  the  bachelor,  "  there  were  no  sheep." 

"  Why  weren't  there  any  sheep  ?  "  came  the  in- 
evitable question  arising  out  of  that  answer. 

The  aunt  permitted  herself  a  smile,  which  might 
almost  have  been  described  as  a  grin. 

"  There  were  no  sheep  in  the  park,"  said  the  bache- 
lor, "  because  the  Prince's  mother  had  once  had  a 
dream  that  her  son  would  either  be  killed  by  a  sheep 
or  else  by  a  clock  falling  on  him.  For  that  reason 
the  Prince  never  kept  a  sheep  in  his  park  or  a  clock 
in  his  palace." 

The  aunt  suppressed  a  gasp  of  admiration. 

"  Was  the  Prince  killed  by  a  sheep  or  by  a  clock  ?  " 
asked  Cyril. 

"  He  is  still  alive,  so  we  can't  tell  whether  the 
dream  will  come  true,"  said  the  bachelor  uncon- 
cernedly ;  "  anyway,  there  were  no  sheep  in  the 
park,  but  there  were  lots  of  little  pigs  running  all 
over  the  place." 

"  What  colour  were  they  ?  " 

"  Black  with  white  faces,  white  with  black  spots, 
black  all  over,  grey  with  white  patches,  and  some 
were  white  all  over." 

The  story-teller  paused  to  let  a  full  idea  of  the 
park's  treasures  sink  into  the  children's  imaginations  j 
then  he  resumed  : 

"  Bertha  was  rather  sorry  to  find  that  there  were 

no  flowers  in  the  park.     She  had  promised  her  aunts, 

with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  she  would  not  pick  any 

of  the  kind  Prince's  flowers,  and  she  had  meant  to 

i8o 


THE       STORY-TELLER 

keep  her  promise,  so  of  course  it  made  her  feel  silly 
to  find  that  there  were  no  flowers  to  pick." 

"  Why  weren't  there  any  flowers  ?  " 

"  Because  the  pigs  had  eaten  them  all,"  said  the 
bachelor  promptly.  "The  gardeners  had  told  the 
Prince  that  you  couldn't  have  pigs  and  flowers,  so 
he  decided  to  have  pigs  and  no  flowers." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval  at  the  excellence 
of  the  Prince's  decision  ;  so  many  people  would  have 
decided  the  other  way. 

"There  were  lots  of  other  delightful  things  in 
the  park.  There  were  ponds  with  gold  and  blue 
and  green  fish  in  them,  and  trees  with  beautiful 
parrots  that  said  clever  things  at  a  moment's  notice, 
and  humming  birds  that  hummed  all  the  popular 
tunes  of  the  day.  Bertha  walked  up  and  down  and 
enjoyed  herself  immensely,  and  thought  to  herself: 
'  If  I  were  not  so  extraordinarily  good  I  should  not 
have  been  allowed  to  come  into  this  beautiful  park 
and  enjoy  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen  in  it,'  and  her 
three  medals  clinked  against  one  another  as  she  walked 
and  helped  to  remind  her  how  very  good  she  really 
was.  Just  then  an  enormous  wolf  came  prowling 
into  the  park  to  see  if  it  could  catch  a  fat  little  pig 
for  its  supper." 

"  What  colour  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  children,  amid 
an  immediate  quickening  of  interest. 

"  Mud-colour  all  over,  with  a  black  tongue  and 
pale  grey  eyes  that  gleamed  with  unspeakable  ferocity. 
The  first  thing  that  it  saw  in  the  park  was  Bertha  } 
her  pinafore  was  so  spotlessly  white  and  clean  that  it 
could  be  seen  from  a  great  distance.  Bertha  saw 
the  wolf  and  saw  that  it  was  stealing  towards  her, 
and  she  began  to  wish  that  she  had  never  been  allowed 
i8i 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

to  come  into  the  park.  She  ran  as  hard  as  she  could, 
and  the  wolf  came  after  her  with  huge  leaps  and  bounds. 
She  managed  to  reach  a  shrubbery  of  myrtle  bushes 
and  she  hid  herself  in  one  of  the  thickets  of  the  bushes. 
The  wolf  came  sniffing  among  the  branches,  its  black 
tongue  lolling  out  of  its  mouth  and  its  pale  grey  eyes 
glaring  with  rage.  Bertha  was  terribly  frightened, 
and  thought  to  herself:  'If  I  had  not  been  so  extra- 
ordinarily good  I  should  have  been  safe  in  the  town 
at  this  moment.'  However,  the  scent  of  the  myrtle 
was  so  strong  that  the  wolf  could  not  sniff  out  where 
Bertha  was  hiding,  and  the  bushes  were  so  thick  that 
he  might  have  hunted  about  in  them  for  a  long  time 
without  catching  sight  of  her,  so  he  thought  he  might 
as  well  go  off  and  catch  a  little  pig  instead.  Bertha 
was  trembling  very  much  at  having  the  wolf  prowling 
and  sniffing  so  near  her,  and  as  she  trembled  the  medal 
for  obedience  clinked  against  the  medals  for  good  con- 
duct and  punctuality.  The  wolf  was  just  moving 
away  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  medals  clinking 
and  stopped  to  listen  ;  they  clinked  again  in  a  bush 
quite  near  him.  He  dashed  into  the  bush,  his  pale 
grey  eyes  gleaming  with  ferocity  and  triumph,  and 
dragged  Bertha  out  and  devoured  her  to  the  last  morsel. 
All  that  was  left  of  her  were  her  shoes,  bits  of  clothing, 
and  the  three  medals  for  goodness." 

"  Were  any  of  the  little  pigs  killed  ?  " 

'*  No,  they  all  escaped." 

"  The  story  began  badly,"  said  the  smaller  of  the 
small  girls,  "but  it  had  a  beautiful  ending." 

"It  is  the  most  beautiful  story  that  I  ever  heard," 
said  the  bigger  of  the  small  girls,  with  immense  decision. 

"  It  is  the  only  beautiful  story  I  have  ever  heard," 
said   Cyril. 

182 


THE       STORY-TELLER 

A  dissentient  opinion  came  from  the  aunt. 

"  A  most  improper  story  to  tell  to  young  children  ! 
You  have  undermined  the  effect  of  years  of  careful 
teaching." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  the  bachelor,  collecting  his 
belongings  preparatory  to  leaving  the  carriage,  "  I 
kept  them  quiet  for  ten  minutes,  w^hich  was  more  than 
you  were  able  to  do." 

"  Unhappy  woman  ! "  he  observed  to  himself  as 
he  walked  down  the  platform  of  Templecombe  sta- 
tion ;  "  for  the  next  six  months  or  so  those  children  will 
assail  her  in  public  with  demands  for  an  improper 
story  1 " 


183 


A       DEFENSIVE       DIAMOND 

TREDDLEFORD  sat  in  an  easeful  arm-chair 
in  front  of  a  slumberous  fire,  with  a  volume 
of  verse  in  his  hand  and  the  comfortable  consciousness 
that  outside  the  club  windows  the  rain  was  dripping 
and  pattering  with  persistent  purpose.  A  chill,  wet 
October  afternoon  was  emerging  into  a  black,  wet 
October  evening,  and  the  club  smoking-room  seemed 
warmer  and  cosier  by  contrast.  It  was  an  afternoon 
on  which  to  be  wafted  away  from  one's  climatic  sur- 
roundings, and  The  Golden  Journey  to  Samarkand 
promised  to  bear  Treddleford  well  and  bravely  into 
other  lands  and  under  other  skies.  He  had  already 
migrated  from  London  the  rain-swept  to  Bagdad 
the  Beautiful,  and  stood  by  the  Sun  Gate  "  in  the 
olden  time  "  when  an  icy  breath  of  imminent  annoy- 
ance seemed  to  creep  between  the  book  and  himself. 
Amblecope,  the  man  with  the  restless,  prominent 
eyes  and  the  mouth  ready  mobilized  for  conversational 
openings,  had  planted  himself  in  a  neighbouring 
arm-chair.  For  a  twelvemonth  and  some  odd  weeks 
Treddleford  had  skilfully  avoided  making  the  acquain- 
tance of  his  voluble  fellow-clubman  ;  he  had  marvel- 
lously escaped  from  the  infliction  of  his  relentless 
record  of  tedious  personal  achievements,  or  alleged 
achievements,  on  golf  links,  turf,  and  gaming  table, 
by  flood  and  field  and  covert-side.  Now  his  season 
of  immunity  was  coming  to  an  end.  There  was  no 
184 


A       DEFENSIVE       DIAMOND 

escape  ;  in  another  moment  he  would  be  numbered 
among  those  who  knew  Amblecope  to  speak  to — or 
rather,  to  suffer  being  spoken  to. 

The  intruder  was  armed  with  a  copy  of  Country 
Life^  not  for  purposes  of  reading,  but  as  an  aid  to 
conversational  ice-breaking. 

"  Rather  a  good  portrait  of  Throstlewing,"  he 
remarked  explosively,  turning  his  large  challenging  eyes 
on  Treddleford  ;  "  somehow  it  reminds  me  very 
much  of  Yellowstep,  who  was  supposed  to  be  such 
a  good  thing  for  the  Grand  Prix  in  1903.  Curious 
race  that  was  ;  I  suppose  I've  seen  every  race  for 
the  Grand  Prix  for  the  last " 

"  Be  kind  enough  never  to  mention  the  Grand 
Prix  in  my  hearing,"  said  Treddleford  desperately  ; 
"  it  awakens  acutely  distressing  memories.  I  can't 
explain  why  without  going  into  a  long  and  complicated 
story." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  said  Amblecope  hastily  ; 
long  and  complicated  stories  that  were  not  told  by 
himself  were  abominable  in  his  eyes.  He  turned 
the  pages  of  Coimtry  Life  and  became  spuriously 
interested  in  the  picture  of  a  Mongolian  pheasant. 

"  Not  a  bad  representation  of  the  Mongolian 
variety,"  he  exclaimed,  holding  it  up  for  his  neigh- 
bour's inspection.  "  They  do  very  well  in  some 
covers.  Take  some  stopping  too  once  they're  fairly 
on  the  wing.  I  suppose  the  biggest  bag  I  ever  made 
in  two  successive  days " 

"  My  aunt,  who  owns  the  greater  part  of  Lincoln- 
shire," broke  in  Treddleford,  with  dramatic  abrupt- 
ness, "possesses  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  record 
in  the  way  of  a  pheasant  bag  that  has  ever  been  achieved. 
She  is  seventy-five  and  can't  hit  a  thing,  but  she  always 
185 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

goes  out  with  the  guns.  When  I  say  she  can't  hit  a 
thing,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  she  doesn't  occasionally 
endanger  the  lives  of  her  fellow-guns,  because  that 
wouldn't  be  true.  In  fact,  the  chief  Government 
Whip  won't  allow  Ministerial  M.P.'s  to  go  out  with 
her  ;  *  We  don't  want  to  incur  by-elections  need- 
lessly,' he  quite  reasonably  obsen'cd.  Well,  the  other 
day  she  winged  a  pheasant,  and  brought  it  to  earth 
with  a  feather  or  two  knocked  out  of  it  ;  it  was  a 
runner,  and  my  aunt  saw  herself  in  danger  of  being 
done  out  of  about  the  only  bird  she'd  hit  during  the 
present  reign.  Of  course  she  wasn't  going  to  stand 
that  ;  she  followed  it  through  bracken  and  brushwood, 
and  when  it  took  to  the  open  country  and  started 
across  a  ploughed  field  she  jumped  on  to  the  shooting 
pony  and  went  after  it.  The  chase  was  a  long  one, 
and  when  my  aunt  at  last  ran  the  bird  to  a  standstill 
she  was  nearer  home  than  she  was  to  the  shooting 
party  ;  she  had  left  that  some  five  miles  behind  her." 

"  Rather  a  long  run  for  a  wounded  pheasant," 
snapped  Amblecope. 

"  The  story  rests  on  my  aunt's  authority,**  said 
Treddleford  coldly,  "  and  she  is  local  vice-president  of 
the  Young  Women's  Christian  Association.  She 
trotted  three  miles  or  so  to  her  home,  and  it  was  not 
till  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that  it  was  discovered 
that  the  lunch  for  the  entire  shooting  party  was  in  a 
pannier  attached  to  the  pony's  saddle.  Anyway,  she 
got  her  bird." 

"  Some  birds,  of  course,  take  a  lot  of  killing,"  said 
Amblecope  ;  "  so  do  some  fish.  I  remember  once  I 
was  fishing  in  the  Exe,  lovely  trout  stream,  lots  of 
fish,  though  they  don't  run  to  any  great  size " 

"  One  of  them  did,"  announced  Treddleford,  with 
i86 


A       DEFENSIVE      DIAMOND 

emphasis.  "  My  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Southmolton, 
came  across  a  giant  trout  in  a  pool  just  off  the  main 
stream  of  the  Exe  near  Ugworthy  ;  he  tried  it  with 
every  kind  of  fly  and  worm  every  day  for  three  weeks 
without  an  atom  of  success,  and  then  Fate  intervened 
on  his  behalf.  There  was  a  low  stone  bridge  just  over 
this  pool,  and  on  the  last  day  of  his  fishing  holiday  a 
motor  van  ran  violently  into  the  parapet  and  turned 
completely  over  ;  no  one  was  hurt,  but  part  of  the 
parapet  was  knocked  away,  and  the  entire  load  that  the 
van  was  carrying  was  pitched  over  and  fell  a  little  way 
into  the  pool.  In  a  couple  of  minutes  the  giant  trout 
was  flapping  and  twisting  on  bare  mud  at  the  bottom 
of  a  waterless  pool,  and  my  uncle  was  able  to  walk 
down  to  him  and  fold  him  to  his  breast.  The  van- 
load  consisted  of  blotting-paper,  and  every  drop  of 
water  in  that  pool  had  been  sucked  up  into  the  mass  of 
spilt  cargo." 

There  was  silence  for  nearly  half  a  minute  in 
the  smoking-room,  and  Treddleford  began  to  let  his 
mind  steal  back  towards  the  golden  road  that  led 
to  Samarkand.  Amblecope,  however,  rallied,  and 
remarked  in  a  rather  tired  and  dispirited  voice  : 

"  Talking  of  motor  accidents,  the  narrowest  squeak 
I  ever  had  was  the  other  day,  motoring  with  old 
Tommy  Yarby  in  North  Wales.  Awfully  good  sort, 
old  Yarby,  thorough  good  sportsman,  and  the  best " 

"  It  was  in  North  Wales,"  said  Treddleford, 
*'  that  my  sister  met  with  her  sensational  carriage 
accident  last  year.  She  was  on  her  way  to  a  garden- 
party  at  Lady  Nineveh's,  about  the  only  garden-party 
that  ever  comes  to  pass  in  those  parts  in  the  course  of 
the  year,  and  therefore  a  thing  that  she  would  have 
been  very  sorry  to  miss.  She  was  driving  a  young 
187 


BEASTS       AN'D       SUPER-BEASTS 

horse  that  she'd  only  bought  a  week  or  two  previously, 
warranted  to  be  perfectly  steady  with  motor  traffic, 
bicycles,  and  other  common  objects  of  the  roadside. 
The  animal  lived  up  to  its  reputation,  and  passed  the 
most  explosive  of  motor-bikes  with  an  indifference 
that  almost  amounted  to  apathy.  However,  I  suppose 
we  all  draw  the  line  somewhere,  and  this  particular 
cob  drew  it  at  travelling  wild  beast  shows.  Of  course 
my  sister  didn't  know  that,  but  she  knew  it  very 
distinctly  when  she  turned  a  sharp  corner  and  found 
herself  in  a  mixed  company  of  camels,  piebald  horses, 
and  canary-coloured  vans.  The  dogcart  was  over- 
turned in  a  ditch  and  kicked  to  splinters,  and  the  cob 
went  home  across  country.  Neither  my  sister  nor 
the  groom  was  hurt,  but  the  problem  of  how  to  get 
to  the  Nineveh  garden-party,  some  three  miles  distant, 
seemed  rather  difficult  to  solve  ;  once  there,  of  course, 
my  sister  would  easily  find  some  one  to  drive  her 
home.  '  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  for  the  loan  of 
a  couple  of  my  camels  ? '  the  showman  suggested,  in 
humorous  sympathy.  '  I  would,'  said  my  sister,  who 
had  ridden  camel-back  in  Egypt,  and  she  overruled 
the  objections  of  the  groom,  who  hadn't.  She  picked 
out  two  of  the  most  presentable-looking  of  the  beasts 
and  had  them  dusted  and  made  as  tidy  as  was  possible 
at  short  notice,  and  set  out  for  the  Nineveh  mansion. 
You  may  imagine  the  sensation  that  her  small  but 
imposing  caravan  created  when  she  arrived  at  the  hall 
door.  The  entire  garden-party  flocked  up  to  gape. 
My  sister  was  rather  glad  to  slip  down  from  her  camel, 
and  the  groom  was  thankful  to  scramble  down  from 
his.  Then  young  Billy  Doulton,  of  the  Dragoon 
Guards,  who  has  been  a  lot  at  Aden  and  thinks  he 
knows  camel-language  backwards,  thought  he  would 


A       DEFENSIVE      DIAMOND 

show  off  by  making  the  beasts  kneel  down  in  orthodox 
fashion.  Unfortunately  camel  words-of-command  are 
not  the  same  all  the  world  over  ;  these  were  magnifi- 
cent Turkestan  camels,  accustomed  to  stride  up  the 
stony  terraces  of  mountain  passes,  and  when  Doulton 
shouted  at  them  they  went  side  by  side  up  the  front 
steps,  into  the  entrance  hall,  and  up  the  grand  staircase. 
The  German  governess  met  them  just  at  the  turn  of 
the  corridor.  The  Ninevehs  nursed  her  with  devoted 
attention  for  weeks,  and  when  I  last  heard  from  them 
she  was  well  enough  to  go  about  her  duties  again,  but  the 
doctor  says  she  willalwayssuffer  from  Hagenbeck  heart." 
Amblecope  got  up  from  his  chair  and  moved  to 
another  part  of  the  room.  Treddleford  reopened  his 
book  and  betook  himself  once  more  across 

The  dragon-green,  the  luminous,  the  dark,  the  serpent- 
haunted  sea. 

For  a  blessed  half-hour  he  disported  himself  in 
imagination  by  the  "  gay  Aleppo-Gate,"  and  listened 
to  the  bird-voiced  singing-man.  Then  the  world  of 
to-day  called  him  back  ;  a  page  summoned  him  to 
speak  with  a  friend  on  the  telephone. 

As  Treddleford  was  about  to  pass  out  of  the  room 
he  encountered  Amblecope,  also  passing  out,  on  his 
way  to  the  billiard-room,  where,  perchance,  some 
luckless  wight  might  be  secured  and  held  fast  to  listen 
to  the  number  of  his  attendances  at  the  Grand  Prix, 
with  subsequent  remarks  on  Newmarket  and  the 
Cambridgeshire.  Amblecope  made  as  if  to  pass  out 
first,  but  a  new-born  pride  was  surging  in  Treddle- 
ford's  breast  and  he  waved  him  back. 

*'  I  believe  I  take  precedence,"  he  said  coldly  ; 
'*  you  are  merely  the  club  Bore  ;  I  am  the  club  Liar." 
189 


THE       ELK 

TERESA,  Mrs.  Thropplestance,  was  the  richest 
and  most  intractable  old  woman  in  the  county 
of  Woldshirc.  In  her  dealings  with  the  world  in 
general  her  manner  suggested  a  blend  between  a 
Mistress  of  the  Robes  and  a  Master  of  Foxhounds, 
with  the  vocabulary  of  both.  In  her  domestic  circle 
she  comported  herself  in  the  arbitrary  style  that  one 
attributes,  probably  without  the  least  justification,  to 
an  American  political  Boss  in  the  bosom  of  his  caucus. 
The  late  Theodore  Thropplestance  had  left  her,  some 
thirty-five  years  ago,  in  absolute  possession  of  a  con- 
siderable fortune,  a  large  landed  property,  and  a  gallery 
full  of  valuable  pictures.  In  those  intervening  years 
she  had  outlived  her  son  and  quarrelled  with  her  elder 
grandson,  who  had  married  without  her  consent  or 
approval.  Bertie  Thropplestance,  her  younger  grand- 
son, was  the  heir-designate  to  her  property,  and  as 
such  he  was  a  centre  of  interest  and  concern  to  some 
half-hundred  ambitious  mothers  with  daughters  of 
marriageable  age.  Bertie  was  an  amiable,  easy-going 
young  man,  who  was  quite  ready  to  marry  anyone 
who  was  favourably  recommended  to  his  notice,  but 
he  was  not  going  to  waste  his  time  in  falling  in  love 
with  anyone  who  would  come  under  his  grandmother's 
veto.  The  favourable  recommendation  would  have  to 
come  from  Mrs.  Thropplestance. 

Teresa's    house-parties    were    always    rounded    off 
190 


THE       ELK 

with  a  plentiful  garnishing  of  presentable  young 
women  and  alert,  attendant  mothers,  but  the  old 
lady  was  emphatically  discouraging  whenever  any 
one  of  her  girl  guests  became  at  all  Hkely  to  outbid 
the  others  as  a  possible  granddaughter-in-Iaw.  It  was 
the  inheritance  of  her  fortune  and  estate  that  was  in 
question,  and  she  was  evidently  disposed  to  exercise 
and  enjoy  her  powers  of  selection  and  rejection  to  the 
utmost.  Bertie's  preferences  did  not  greatly  matter  ; 
he  was  of  the  sort  who  can  be  stolidly  happy  with  any 
kind  of  wife  ;  he  had  cheerfully  put  up  with  his  grand- 
mother all  his  life,  so  he  was  not  likely  to  fret  and 
fume  over  anything  that  might  befall  him  in  the  way 
of  a  helpmate. 

The  party  that  gathered  under  Teresa's  roof  in 
Christmas  week  of  the  year  nineteen-hundred-and- 
something  was  of  smaller  proportions  than  usual,  and 
Mrs.  Yonelet,  who  formed  one  of  the  party,  was 
inclined  to  deduce  hopeful  augury  from  this  circum- 
stance. Dora  Yonelet  and  Bertie  were  so  obviously 
made  for  one  another,  she  confided  to  the  vicar's  wife, 
and  if  the  old  lady  were  accustomed  to  seeing  them 
about  a  lot  together  she  might  adopt  the  view  that 
they  would  make  a  suitable  married  couple. 

"  People  soon  get  used  to  an  idea  if  it  is  dangled 
constantly  before  their  eyes,"  said  Mrs.  Yonelet  hope- 
fully, "  and  the  more  often  Teresa  sees  those  young 
people  together,  happy  in  each  other's  company,  the 
more  she  will  get  to  take  a  kindly  interest  in  Dora 
as  a  possible  and  desirable  wife  for  Bertie. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  vicar's  wife  resignedly,  "  my 

own  Sybil  was  thrown  together  with  Bertie  under  the 

most  romantic  circumstances — I'll  tell  you  about  it 

some  day — but  it  made  no  impression  whatever  on 

191 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

Teresa  ;  she  put  her  foot  down  in  the  most  uncom- 
promising fashion,  and  Sybil  married  an  Indian 
civilian." 

"  Quite  right  of  her,"  said  Mrs.  Yonclet  with 
vague  approval  ;  "  it's  what  any  girl  of  spirit  would 
have  done.  Still,  that  was  a  year  or  two  ago,  I  believe  ; 
Bertie  is  older  now,  and  so  is  Teresa.  Naturally  she 
must  be  anxious  to  see  him  settled." 

The  vicar's  wife  reflected  that  Teresa  seemed  to  be 
the  one  person  who  showed  no  immediate  anxiety 
to  supply  Bertie  with  a  wife,  but  she  kept  the  thought 
to  herself 

Mrs.  Yonelet  was  a  woman  of  resourceful  energy 
and  generalship  ;  she  involved  the  other  members  of 
the  house-party,  the  deadweight,  so  to  speak,  in  all 
manner  of  exercises  and  occupations  that  segregated 
them  from  Bertie  and  Dora,  who  were  left  to  their  own 
devisings — that  is  to  say,  to  Dora's  devisings  and 
Bertie's  accommodating  acquiescence.  Dora  helped 
in  the  Christmas  decorations  of  the  parish  church,  and 
Bertie  helped  her  to  help.  Together  they  fed  the 
swans,  till  the  birds  v/ent  on  a  dyspepsia-strike,  together 
they  played  billiards,  together  they  photographed  the 
village  almshouses,  and,  at  a  respectful  distance,  the 
tame  elk  that  browsed  in  solitary  aloofness  in  the  park. 
It  was  "  tame "  in  the  sense  that  it  had  long  ago 
discarded  the  least  vestige  of  fear  of  the  human  race  ; 
nothing  in  its  record  encouraged  its  human  neighbours 
to  feel  a  reciprocal  confidence. 

Whatever  sport  or  exercise  or  occupation  Bertie  and 
Dora  indulged  in  together  was  unfailingly  chronicled 
and  advertised  by  Mrs.  Yonelet  for  the  due  enlighten- 
ment of  Bertie's  grandmother. 

"Those  two  inseparables  have  just  come  in  from 
192 


THE       ELK 

a  bicycle  ride,"  she  would  announce  ;  "  quite  a  picture 
they  make,  so  fresh  and  glowing  after  their  spin." 

"  A  picture  needing  words,"  would  be  Teresa's 
private  comment,  and  as  far  as  Bertie  was  concerned 
she  was  determined  that  the  words  should  remain 
unspoken. 

On  the  afternoon  after  Christmas  Day  Mrs.  Yonelet 
dashed  into  the  drawing-room,  where  her  hostess  was 
sitting  amid  a  circle  of  guests  and  tea-cups  and  muffin- 
dishes.  Fate  had  placed  what  seemed  like  a  trump- 
card  in  the  hands  of  the  patiently-manoeuvring  mother. 
With  eyes  blazing  with  excitement  and  a  voice  heavily 
escorted  with  exclamation  marks  she  made  a  dramatic 
announcement. 

"  Bertie  has  saved  Dora  from  the  elk  !  " 

In  swift,  excited  sentences,  broken  with  maternal 
emotion,  she  gave  supplementary  information  as  to 
how  the  treacherous  animal  had  ambushed  Dora  as 
she  was  hunting  for  a  strayed  golf  ball,  and  how  Bertie 
had  dashed  to  her  rescue  with  a  stable  fork  and  driven 
the  beast  off  in  the  nick  of  time. 

"  It  was  touch  and  go  !  She  threw  her  niblick  at 
it,  but  that  didn't  stop  it.  In  another  moment  she 
would  have  been  crushed  beneath  its  hoofs,"  panted 
Mrs.  Yonelet. 

"  The  animal  is  not  safe,"  said  Teresa,  handing  her 
agitated  guest  a  cup  of  tea,  "  I  forget  if  you  take 
sugar.  I  suppose  the  solitary  life  it  leads  has  soured 
its  temper.  There  are  muffins  in  the  grate.  It's 
not  my  fault  ;  I've  tried  to  get  it  a  mate  for  ever 
so  long.  You  don't  know  of  anyone  with  a  lady  elk 
for  sale  or  exchange,  do  you  ?  "  she  asked  the  company 
generally. 

But  A-lrs.  Yonelet  was  in  no  humour  to  listen  to 

193 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

talk  of  elk  marriages.  The  mating  of  two  human 
beings  was  the  subject  uppermost  in  her  mind,  and  the 
opportunity  for  advancing  her  pet  project  was  too 
valuable  to  be  neglected. 

*'  Teresa,"  she  exclaimed  impressively,  "after  those 
two  young  people  have  been  thrown  together  so 
dramatically,  nothing  can  be  quite  the  same  again 
between  them.  Bertie  has  done  more  than  save 
Dora's  life  ;  he  has  earned  her  affection.  One  cannot 
help  feeling  that  Fate  has  consecrated  them  for  one 
another." 

"  Exactly  what  the  vicar's  wife  said  when  Bertie 
saved  Sybil  from  the  elk  a  year  or  two  ago,"  observed 
Teresa  placidly  ;  "  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  he  had 
rescued  Mirabel  Hicks  from  the  same  predicament  a 
few  months  previously,  and  that  priority  really  belonged 
to  the  gardener's  boy,  who  had  been  rescued  in  the 
January  of  that  year.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  sameness 
in  country  life,  you  know." 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  very  dangerous  animal,"  said  one 
of  the  guests. 

"  That's  what  the  mother  of  the  gardener's  boy 
said,"  remarked  Teresa  ;  "she  wanted  me  to  have  it 
destroyed,  but  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  she  had  eleven 
children  and  I  had  only  one  elk.  I  also  gave  her  a 
black  silk  skirt  ;  she  said  that  though  there  hadn't 
been  a  funeral  in  her  family,  she  felt  as  if  there  had 
been.  Anyhow,  we  parted  friends.  I  can't  offer 
you  a  silk  skirt,  Emily,  but  you  may  have  another  cup 
of  tea.  As  I  have  already  remarked,  there  are  muffins 
in  the  grate." 

Teresa  closed  the  discussion,  having  deftly  con- 
veyed the  impression  that  she  considered  the  mother 
of  the  gardener's  boy  had  shown  a  far  more  reason- 
194 


THE      ELK 

able  spirit  than  the  parents  of  other  elk-assaulted 
victims. 

"  Teresa  is  devoid  of  feeling,"  said  Mrs.  Yonelet 
afterwards  to  the  vicar's  wife  ;  "  to  sit  there,  talking 
of  muffins,  with  an  appalling  tragedy  only  narrowly 
averted " 

"  Of  course  you  know  whom  she  really  intends 
Bertie  to  marry  ?  "  asked  the  vicar's  wife  ;  "  I've 
noticed  it  for  some  time.  The  Bickelbys'  German 
governess." 

"  A  German  governess  !  What  an  idea  !  "  gasped 
Mrs.   Yonelet. 

"  She's  of  quite  good  family,  I  believe,"  said  the 
vicar's  wife,  "  and  not  at  all  the  mouse-in-the-back- 
ground  sort  of  person  that  governesses  are  usually 
supposed  to  be.  In  fact,  next  to  Teresa,  she's  about 
the  most  assertive  and  combative  personality  in  the 
neighbourhood.  She's  pointed  out  to  my  husband 
all  sorts  of  errors  in  his  sermons,  and  she  gave  Sir 
Laurence  a  public  lecture  on  how  he  ought  to  handle 
the  hounds.  You  know  how  sensitive  Sir  Laurence 
is  about  any  criticism  of  his  Mastership,  and  to  have  a 
governess  laying  down  the  law  to  him  nearly  drove 
him  into  a  fit.  She's  behaved  like  that  to  every  one, 
except,  of  course,  Teresa,  and  every  one  has  been 
defensively  rude  to  her  in  return.  The  Bickelbys  are 
simply  too  afraid  of  her  to  get  rid  of  her.  Now  isn't 
that  exactly  the  sort  of  woman  whom  Teresa  would 
take  a  delight  in  installing  as  her  successor  ?  Imagine 
the  discomfort  and  awkwardness  in  the  county  if  we 
suddenly  found  that  she  was  to  be  the  future  hostess 
at  the  Hall.  Teresa's  only  regret  will  be  that  she 
won't  be  alive  to  see  it." 

"But,"  objected  Mrs.  Yonelet,  "surely  Bertie 
195 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

hasn't  shown  the  least  sign  of  being  attracted  in  that 
quarter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  quite  nice-looking  in  a  way,  and  dresses 
well,  and  plays  a  good  game  of  tennis.  She  often 
comes  across  the  park  with  messages  from  the  Bickelby 
mansion,  and  one  of  these  days  Bertie  will  rescue  her 
from  the  elk,  which  has  become  almost  a  habit  with 
him,  and  Teresa  will  say  that  Fate  has  consecrated 
them  to  one  another.  Bertie  might  not  be  disposed 
to  pay  much  attention  to  the  consecrations  of  Fate, 
but  he  would  not  dream  of  opposing  his  grandmother." 

The  vicar's  wife  spoke  with  the  quiet  authority 
of  one  who  has  intuitive  knowledge,  and  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  Mrs.  Yonelet  believed  her. 

Six  months  later  the  elk  had  to  be  destroyed.  In 
a  fit  of  exceptional  moroseness  it  had  killed  the 
Bickelbys'  German  governess.  It  was  an  irony  of 
its  fate  that  it  should  achieve  popularity  in  the  last 
moments  of  its  career  j  at  any  rate,  it  established  the 
record  of  being  the  only  living  thing  that  had  per- 
manently thwarted  Teresa  Thropplestance's  plans. 

Dora  Yonelet  broke  off  her  engagement  with  an 
Indian  civilian,  and  married  Bertie  three  months  after 
his  grandmother's  death — Teresa  did  not  long  survive 
the  German  governess  fiasco.  At  Christmas  time 
every  year  young  Mrs.  Thropplestance  hangs  an  extra 
large  festoon  of  evergreens  on  the  elk  horns  that 
decorate  the  hall. 

"  It  was  a  fearsome  beast,"  she  observes  to  Bertie, 
**  but  I  always  feel  that  it  was  instrumental  in  bringing 
us  together," 

Which,  of  course,  was  true. 


196 


"down     pens" 

"  TTAVE  you  written  to  thank  the  FropHnsons 
XjL     for  what  they  sent  us  ?  "  asked  Egbert. 

"  No,"  said  Janetta,  with  a  note  of  tired  defiance 
in  her  voice  ;  "  I've  written  eleven  letters  to-day 
expressing  surprise  and  gratitude  for  sundry  unmerited 
gifts,  but  I  haven't  written  to  the  Froplinsons." 

"Some  one  will  have  to  write  to  them,"  said 
Egbert. 

"  I  don't  dispute  the  necessity,  but  I  don't  think 
the  some  one  should  be  me,"  said  Janetta.  "  I 
wouldn't  mind  writing  a  letter  of  angry  recrimination 
or  heartless  satire  to  some  suitable  recipient  ;  in  fact, 
I  should  rather  enjoy  it,  but  I've  come  to  the  end  of 
my  capacity  for  expressing  servile  amiability.  Eleven 
letters  to-day  and  nine  yesterday,  all  couched  in  the 
same  strain  of  ecstatic  thankfulness  :  really,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  sit  down  to  another.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  writing  oneself  out." 

"  I've  written  nearly  as  many,"  said  Egbert,  "  and 
I've  had  my  usual  business  correspondence  to  get 
through  too.  Besides,  I  don't  know  what  it  was  that 
the  FropHnsons  sent  us." 

"  A  William  the  Conqueror  calendar,"  said  Janetta, 
"with  a  quotation  of  one  of  his  great  thoughts  for 
every  day  in  the  year." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Egbert  ;    "  he  didn't  have  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  thoughts  in  the  whole  of  his 
197 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

life,  or,  if  he  did,  he  kept  them  to  himself.  He  was  a 
man  of  action,  not  of  introspection." 

"  Weil,  it  was  William  Wordsworth,  then,"  said 
Janetta  ;   "  I  know  William  came  into  it  somewhere." 

"  That  sounds  more  probable,"  said  Egbert  ;  "  well, 
let's  collaborate  on  this  letter  of  thanks  and  get  it  done. 
I'll  dictate,  and  you  can  scribble  it  down.  '  Dear  Mrs. 
Froplinson — thank  you  and  your  husband  so  much 
for  the  very  pretty  calendar  you  sent  us.  It  was  very 
good  of  you  to  think  of  us.'  " 

"  You  can't  possibly  say  that,"  said  Janetta,  laying 
down  her  pen. 

"  It's  what  I  always  do  say,  and  what  every  one 
says  to  me,"  protested  Egbert. 

"  We  sent  them  something  on  the  twenty-second," 
said  Janetta,  "  so  they  simply  had  to  think  of  us. 
There  was  no  getting  away  from  it." 

"  What  did  we  send  them  ?  "  asked  Egbert  gloomily. 

*'  Bridge-markers,"  said  Janetta,  "  in  a  cardboard 
case,  with  some  inanity  about  '  digging  for  fortune 
with  a  royal  spade '  emblazoned  on  the  cover.  The 
moment  I  saw  it  in  the  shop  I  said  to  myself  '  Frop- 
linsons '  and  to  the  attendant  '  How  much  ? '  When 
he  said  '  Ninepence,'  I  gave  him  their  address,  jabbed 
our  card  in,  paid  tenpence  or  elevenpence  to  cover  the 
postage,  and  thanked  heaven.  With  less  sincerity 
and  infinitely  more  trouble  they  eventually  thanked 
me. 

"  The  Froplinsons  don't  play  bridge,"  said  Egbert. 

*'  One  is  not  supposed  to  notice  social  deformities 
of  that  sort,"  said  Janetta  ;  "  it  wouldn't  be  polite. 
Besides,  what  trouble  did  they  take  to  find  out  whether 
we  read  Wordsworth  with  gladness  ?  For  all  they 
Icnew  or  cared  we  might  be  frantically  embedded  in 
198 


"down     pens" 

the  belief  that  all  poetry  begins  and  ends  with  John 
Masefield,  and  it  might  infuriate  or  depress  us  to  have 
a  daily  sample  of  Wordsworthian  products  flung  at  us." 

"  Well,  let's  get  on  with  the  letter  of  thanks,"  said 
Egbert. 

"  Proceed,"  said  Janetta. 

*' '  How  clever  of  you  to  guess  that  Wordsworth  is 
our  favourite  poet,'  "  dictated  Egbert. 

Again  Janetta  laid  down  her  pen. 

"  Do  you  realize  what  that  means  ?  "  she  asked  ; 
"  a  Wordsworth  booklet  next  Christmas,  and  another 
calendar  the  Christmas  after,  with  the  same  problem 
of  having  to  write  suitable  letters  of  thankfulness. 
No,  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  drop  all  further  allusion 
to  the  calendar  and  switch  off  on  to  some  other  topic." 

"  But  what  other  topic  ?  " 

"  Oh,  something  like  this  :  '  What  do  you  think  of 
the  New  Year  Honours  List  ?  A  friend  of  ours  made 
such  a  clever  remark  when  he  read  it.'  Then  you 
can  stick  in  any  remark  that  comes  into  your  head  ; 
it  needn't  be  clever.  The  Froplinsons  won't  know 
whether  it  is  or  isn't." 

"  We  don't  even  know  on  which  side  they  are  in 
politics,"  objected  Egbert;  "and  anyhow  you  can't 
suddenly  dismiss  the  subject  of  the  calendar.  Surely 
there  must  be  some  intelligent  remark  that  can  be  made 
about  it,"   ^ 

"  Well,  we  can't  think  of  one,"  said  Janetta  wearily  ; 
"  the  fact  is,  we've  both  written  ourselves  out. 
Heavens  !  I've  just  remembered  Mrs.  Stephen 
Ludberry.  I  haven't  thanked  her  for  what  she 
sent." 

"  What  did  she  send  ?  " 

*'  I  forget  J    I  think  it  was  a  calendar." 
199 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

There  was  a  long  silence,  the  forlorn  silence  of 
those  who  are  bereft  of  hope  and  have  almost  ceased 
to  care. 

Presently  Egbert  started  from  his  seat  with  an 
air  of  resolution.  The  light  of  battle  was  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Let  me  come  to  the  writing-table,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Gladly,"  said  Janetta.  "  Are  you  going  to  write 
to  Mrs.  Ludberry  or  the  Froplinsons  ?  " 

"  To  neither,"  said  Egbert,  drawing  a  stack  of  note- 
paper  towards  him  ;  "  I'm  going  to  write  to  the 
editor  of  every  enlightened  and  influential  newspaper 
in  the  Kingdom.  I'm  going  to  suggest  that  there 
should  be  a  sort  of  epistolary  Truce  of  God  during  the 
festivities  of  Christmas  and  New  Year.  From  the 
twenty-fourth  of  December  to  the  third  or  fourth  of 
January  it  shall  be  considered  an  offence  against  good 
sense  and  good  feeling  to  write  or  expect  any  letter  or 
communication  that  does  not  deal  with  the  necessary 
events  of  the  moment.  Answers  to  invitations, 
arrangements  about  trains,  renewal  of  club  subscrip- 
tions, and,  of  course,  all  the  ordinary  everyday  affairs 
of  business,  sickness,  engaging  new  cooks,  and  so 
forth,  these  will  be  dealt  with  in  the  usual  manner  as 
something  inevitable,  a  legitimate  part  of  our  daily 
life.  But  all  the  devastating  accretions  of  correspond- 
ence, incident  to  the  festive  season,  these  should  be 
swept  away  to  give  the  season  a  chance  of  being  really 
festive,  a  time  of  untroubled,  unpunctuated  peace  and 
good  will." 

"  But  you  would  have  to  make  some  acknowledg- 
ment of  presents  received,"  objected  Janetta  ;  "  other- 
wise people  would  never  know  whether  they  had  arrived 
safely.",-. 

200 


"down     pens" 

"Of  course,  I  have  thought  of  that,"  said  Egbert ; 
"  every  present  that  was  sent  off  would  be  accompanied 
by  a  ticket  bearing  the  date  of  dispatch  and  the  signa- 
ture of  the  sender,  and  some  conventional  hierogl)^hic 
to  shov/  that  it  was  intended  to  be  a  Christmas  or  New 
Year  gift  ;  there  would  be  a  counterfoil  with  space 
for  the  recipient's  name  and  the  date  of  arrival,  and 
all  you  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  sign  and  date 
the  counterfoil,  add  a  conventional  hieroglyphic 
indicating  heartfelt  thanks  and  gratified  surprise,  put 
the  thing  into  an  envelope  and  post  it." 

"  It  sounds  delightfully  simple,"  said  Janetta 
wistfully,  "  but  people  would  consider  it  too  cut-and- 
dried,  too  perfunctory." 

"  It  is  not  a  bit  more  perfunctory  than  the  present 
system,"  said  Egbert  ;  "  I  have  only  the  same  con- 
ventional language  of  gratitude  at  my  disposal  with 
which  to  thank  dear  old  Colonel  Chuttle  for  his  per- 
fectly delicious  Stilton,  which  we  shall  devour  to  the 
last  morsel,  and  the  Froplinsons  for  their  calendar, 
which  we  shall  never  look  at.  Colonel  Chuttle  knows 
that  we  are  grateful  for  the  Stilton,  without  having  to 
be  told  so,  and  the  Froplinsons  know  that  we  are  bored 
with  their  calendar,  whatever  we  may  say  to  the 
contrary,  just  as  we  know  that  they  are  bored  with  the 
bridge-markers  in  spite  of  their  written  assurance  that 
they  thanked  us  for  our  charming  little  gift.  What  is 
more,  the  Colonel  knows  that  even  if  we  had  taken  a 
sudden  aversion  to  Stilton  or  been  forbidden  it  by  the 
doctor,  we  should  still  have  written  a  letter  of  hearty 
thanks  around  it.  So  you  see  the  present  system  of 
acknowledgment  is  just  as  perfunctory  and  conven- 
tional as  the  counterfoil  business  would  be,  only  ten 
times  more  tiresome  and  brain-racking." 
201 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

"  Your  plan  would  certainly  bring  the  ideal  of  a 
Happy  Christmas  a  step  nearer  realization,"  said 
Janetta. 

"  There  are  exceptions,  of  course,"  said  Egbert, 
"  people  who  really  try  to  infuse  a  breath  of  reality 
into  their  letters  of  acknowledgment.  Aunt  Susan, 
for  instance,  who  writes  :  '  Thank  you  very  much 
for  the  ham  ;  not  such  a  good  flavour  as  the  one  you 
sent  last  year,  which  itself  was  not  a  particularly  good 
one.  Hams  are  not  what  they  used  to  be.'  It  would 
be  a  pity  to  be  deprived  of  her  Christmas  comments, 
but  that  loss  would  be  swallowed  up  in  the  general 
gain." 

"  Meanwhile,"  said  Janetta,  "  what  am  I  to  say 
to  the  Froplinsons  ?  " 


202 


THE      NAME-DAY 

ADVENTURES,  according  to  the  proverb,  are 
to  the  adventurous.  Quite  as  often  they  are 
to  the  non-adventurous,  to  the  retiring,  to  the  con- 
stitutionally timid.  John  James  Abbleway  had  been 
endowed  by  Nature  with  the  sort  of  disposition  that 
instinctively  avoids  Carlist  intrigues,  slum  crusades, 
the  tracking  of  wounded  wild  beasts,  and  the  moving 
of  hostile  amendments  at  political  meetings.  If  a 
mad  dog  or  a  Mad  Mullah  had  come  his  way  he  would 
have  surrendered  the  way  without  hesitation.  At 
school  he  had  unwilUngly  acquired  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  the  German  tongue  out  of  deference  to  the 
plainly-expressed  wishes  of  a  foreign-languages  master, 
who,  though  he  taught  modern  subjects,  employed 
old-fashioned  methods  in  driving  his  lessons  home.  It 
was  this  enforced  familiarity  with  an  important  com- 
mercial language  which  thrust  Abbleway  in  later  years 
into  strange  lands  where  adventures  were  less  easy  to 
guard  against  than  in  the  ordered  atmosphere  of  an 
English  country  town.  The  firm  that  he  worked  for 
saw  fit  to  send  him  one  day  on  a  prosaic  business  errand 
to  the  far  city  of  Vienna,  and,  having  sent  him  there, 
continued  to  keep  him  there,  still  engaged  in  humdrum 
affairs  of  commerce,  but  v/ith  the  possibilities  of 
romance  and  adventure,  or  even  misadventure,  jostling 
at  his  elbow.  After  two  and  a  half  years  of  exile, 
however,  John  James  Abbleway  had  embarked  on 
703 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

only  one  hazardous  undertaking,  and  that  was  of  a 
nature  which  would  assuredly  have  overtaken  him 
sooner  or  later  if  he  had  been  leading  a  sheltered, 
stay-at-home  existence  at  Dorking  or  Huntingdon. 
He  fell  placidly  in  love  with  a  placidly  lovable  English 
girl,  the  sister  of  one  of  his  commercial  colleagues,  who 
was  improving  her  mind  by  a  short  trip  to  foreign  parts, 
and  in  due  course  he  was  formally  accepted  as  the 
young  man  she  was  engaged  to.  The  further  step  by 
which  she  was  to  become  Mrs.  John  Abbleway  was 
to  take  place  a  twelvemonth  hence  in  a  town  in  the 
English  midlands,  by  which  time  the  firm  that  employed 
John  James  would  have  no  further  need  for  his  presence 
in  the  Austrian  capital. 

It  was  early  in  April,  two  months  after  the  installa- 
tion of  Abbleway  as  the  young  man  Miss  Penning 
was  engaged  to,  when  he  received  a  letter  from  her, 
written  from  Venice.  She  was  still  peregrinating 
under  the  wing  of  her  brother,  and  as  the  latter's  busi- 
ness arrangements  would  take  him  across  to  Fiume  for 
a  day  or  two,  she  had  conceived  the  idea  that  it  would 
be  rather  jolly  if  John  could  obtain  leave  of  absence 
and  run  down  to  the  Adriatic  coast  to  meet  them. 
She  had  looked  up  the  route  on  the  map,  and  the 
journey  did  not  appear  likely  to  be  expensive.  Between 
the  lines  of  her  communication  there  lay  a  hint  that  if 
he  really  cared  for  her 

Abbleway  obtained  leave  of  absence  and  added  a 
journey  to  Fiume  to  his  life's  adventures.  He  left 
Vienna  on  a  cold,  cheerless  day.  The  flower  shops 
were  full  of  spring  blooms,  and  the  weekly  organs  of 
illustrated  humour  were  full  of  spring  topics,  but  the 
skies  were  heavy  with  clouds  that  looked  like  cotton- 
wool that  has  been  kept  over  long  in  a  shop  window. 
204 


THE      NAME-DAY 

**  Snow  comes,"  said  the  train  official  to  the  station 
officials  ;  and  they  agreed  that  snow  was  about  to 
come.  And  it  came,  rapidly,  plenteously.  The  train 
had  not  been  more  than  an  hour  on  its  journey  when 
the  cotton-wool  clouds  commenced  to  dissolve  in  a 
Winding  downpour  of  snowflakes.  The  forest  trees 
on  either  side  of  the  line  were  speedily  coated  with  a 
heavy  white  mantle,  the  telegraph  wires  became  thick 
glistening  ropes,  the  line  itself  was  buried  more  and 
more  completely  under  a  carpeting  of  snow,  through 
which  the  not  very  powerful  engine  ploughed  its  way 
with  increasing  difficulty.  The  Vienna-Fiume  line 
is  scarcely  the  best  equipped  of  the  Austrian  State  rail- 
ways, and  Abbleway  began  to  have  serious  fears  for  a 
breakdown.  The  train  had  slowed  down  to  a  painful 
and  precarious  crawl  and  presently  came  to  a  halt  at 
a  spot  where  the  drifting  snow  had  accumulated  in  a 
formidable  barrier.  The  engine  made  a  special  effort 
and  broke  through  the  obstruction,  but  in  the  course 
of  another  twenty  minutes  it  was  again  held  up.  The 
process  of  breaking  through  was  renewed  and  the  train 
doggedly  resumed  its  way,  encountering  and  sur- 
mounting fresh  hindrances  at  frequent  intervals.  After 
a  standstill  of  unusually  long  duration  in  a  particularly 
deep  drift  the  compartment  in  which  Abbleway  was 
sitting  gave  a  huge  jerk  and  a  lurch,  and  then  seemed  to 
remain  stationary  ;  it  undoubtedly  was  not  moving, 
and  yet  he  could  hear  the  puffing  of  the  engine  and  the 
slow  rumbling  and  jolting  of  wheels.  The  puffing 
and  rumbling  grew  fainter,  as  though  it  were  dying 
away '^  through  the  agency  of  intervening  distance. 
Abbleway  suddenly  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation  of 
scandalized  alarm,  opened  the  window,  and  peered  out 
into  the  snowstorm.  The  flakes  perched  on  his  eye- 
205 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

lashes  and  blurred  his  vision,  but  he  saw  enough  to 
help  him  to  realize  what  had  happened.  The  engine 
had  made  a  mighty  plunge  through  the  drift  and  had 
gone  merrily  forward,  lightened  of  the  load  of  its  rear 
carriage,  whose  coupling  had  snapped  under  the  strain. 
Abbleway  was  alone,  or  almost  alone,  with  a  derelict 
railway  waggon,  in  the  heart  of  some  Styrian  or 
Croatian  forest.  In  the  third-class  compartment  next 
to  his  own  he  remembered  to  have  seen  a  peasant 
woman,  who  had  entered  the  train  at  a  small  wayside 
station.  "  With  the  exception  of  that  woman,"  he 
exclaimed  dramatically  to  himself,  "  the  nearest  Hving 
beings  are  probably  a  pack  of  wolves." 

Before  making  his  way  to  the  third-class  compart- 
ment to  acquaint  his  fellow-traveller  with  the  extent 
of  the  disaster  Abbleway  hurriedly  pondered  the  ques- 
tion of  the  woman's  nationality.  He  had  acquired  a 
smattering  of  Slavonic  tongues  during  his  residence  in 
Vienna,  and  felt  competent  to  grapple  with  several 
racial  possibilities. 

"  If  she  is  Croat  or  Serb  or  Bosniak  I  shall  be  able 
to  make  her  understand,"  he  promised  himself.  "  If 
she  is  Magyar,  heaven  help  me  !  We  shall  have  to 
converse  entirely  by  signs." 

He  entered  the  carriage  and  made  his  momentous 
announcement  in  the  best  approach  to  Croat  speech 
that  he  could  achieve. 

"  The  train  has  broken  away  and  left  us  !  " 

The  woman  shook  her  head  with  a  movement  that 
might  be  intended  to  convey  resignation  to  the  will 
of  heaven,  but  probably  meant  noncomprehension. 
Abbleway  repeated  his  information  with  variations  of 
Slavonic  tongues  and  generous  displays  of  panto- 
mime. 

206 


THE       NAME-DAY 

**  Ah,"  said  the  woman  at  last  in  German  dialect, 
"  the  train  has  gone  ?     We  are  left.     Ah,  so." 

She  seemed  about  as  much  interested  as  though 
Abbleway  had  told  her  the  result  of  the  municipal 
elections  in  Amsterdam. 

"  They  will  find  out  at  some  station,  and  when  the 
line  is  clear  of  snow  they  will  send  an  engine.  It 
happens  that  way  sometimes." 

"  We  may  be  here  all  night  !  "  exclaimed  Abbleway. 

The  woman  looked  as  though  she  thought  it 
possible. 

"  Are  there  wolves  in  these  parts  ?  "  asked  Abble- 
way hurriedly. 

"Many,"  said  the  woman;  "just  outside  this 
forest  my  aunt  was  devoured  three  years  ago,  as  she 
was  coming  home  from  market.  The  horse  and  a 
young  pig  that  was  in  the  cart  were  eaten  too.  The 
horse  was  a  very  old  one,  but  it  was  a  beautiful  young 
pig,  oh,  so  fat.  I  cried  when  I  heard  that  it  was 
taken.     They  spare  nothing." 

"  They  may  attack  us  here,"  said  Abbleway  tremu- 
lously ;  "  they  could  easily  break  in,  these  carriages 
are  like  matchwood.     We  may  both  be  devoured." 

"  You,  perhaps,"  said  the  woman  calmly  ;  "  not 
me. 

"  Why  not  you  ?  "  demanded  Abbleway. 

"  It  is  the  day  of  Saint  Maria  Kleopha,  my  name- 
day.  She  would  not  allow  me  to  be  eaten  by  wolves 
on  her  day.  Such  a  thing  could  not  be  thought  of. 
You,  yes,  but  not  me." 

Abbleway  changed  the  subject. 

"  It  is  only  afternoon  now  ;  if  we  are  to  be  left  here 
till  morning  we  shall  be  starving." 

"  I  have  here  some  good  eatables,"  said  the  woman 
207  H 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

tranquilly  ;  "  on  my  festival  day  it  is  natural  that  I 
should  have  provision  with  me.  I  have  five  good 
blood-sausages  ;  in  the  tow^n  shops  they  cost  twenty- 
five  heller  each.     Things  are  dear  in  the  town  shops." 

"  I  will  give  you  fifty  heller  apiece  for  a  couple  of 
them,"  said  Abbleway  with  some  enthusiasm. 

"  In  a  railway  accident  things  become  very  dear," 
said  the  woman ;  "  these  blood-sausages  are  four 
kronen  apiece." 

"  Four  kronen  !  "  exclaimed  Abbleway  ;  "  four 
kronen  for  a  blood  sausage  I  " 

"  You  cannot  get  them  any  cheaper  on  this  train," 
said  the  woman,  with  relentless  logic,  "  because  there 
aren't  any  others  to  get.  In  Agram  you  can  buy  them 
cheaper,  and  in  Paradise  no  doubt  they  will  be  given 
to  us  for  nothing,  but  here  they  cost  four  kronen  each. 
I  have  a  small  piece  of  Emmenthaler  cheese  and  a 
honey-cake  and  a  piece  of  bread  that  I  can  let  you 
have.  That  will  be  another  three  kronen,  eleven 
kronen  in  all.  There  is  a  piece  of  ham,  but  that  I 
cannot  let  you  have  on  my  name-day." 

Abbleway  wondered  to  himself  what  price  she 
would  have  put  on  the  ham,  and  hurried  to  pay  her 
the  eleven  kronen  before  her  emergency  tariff  ex- 
panded into  a  famine  tariff.  As  he  was  taking 
possession  of  his  m.odest  store  of  eatables  he  suddenly 
heard  a  noise  which  set  his  heart  thumping  in  a 
miserable  fever  of  fear.  There  was  a  scraping  and 
shuffling  as  of  some  animal  or  animals  trying  to  climb 
up  to  the  footboard.  In  another  moment,  through 
the  snow-encrusted  glass  of  the  carriage  window,  he 
saw  a  gaunt  prick-eared  head,  with  gaping  jaw  and 
lolling  tongue  and  gleaming  teeth  ;  a  second  later 
another  head  shot  up. 

208 


THE       NAME-DAY 

"  There  are  hundreds  of  them,"  whispered  Abble- 
way  ;  "  they  have  scented  us.  They  will  tear  the 
carriage  to  pieces.     We  shall  be  devoured." 

"  Not  me,  on  my  name-day.  The  holy  Maria 
Kleopha  would  not  permit  it,"  said  the  woman  with 
provoking  calm. 

The  heads  dropped  down  from  the  window  and 
an  uncanny  silence  fell  on  the  beleaguered  carriage. 
Abbleway  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  Perhaps  the 
brutes  had  not  clearly  seen  or  winded  the  human 
occupants  of  the  carriage,  and  had  prowled  away  on 
some  other  errand  of  rapine. 

The  long  torture-laden  minutes  passed  slowly  away. 

"  It  grows  cold,"  said  the  woman  suddenly,  cross- 
ing over  to  the  far  end  of  the  carriage,  where  the  heads 
had  appeared.  "  The  heating  apparatus  does  not 
work  any  longer.  See,  over  there  beyond  the  trees, 
there  is  a  chimney  with  smoke  coming  from  it.  It  is 
not  far,  and  the  snow  has  nearly  stopped.  I  shall  find 
a  path  through  the  forest  to  that  house  with  the 
chimney." 

"  But  the  wolves  !  "  exclaimed  Abbleway }  "  they 
may- 


"  Not  on  my  name-day,"  said  the  woman  obstin- 
ately, and  before  he  could  stop  her  she  had  opened 
the  door  and  climbed  down  into  the  snow.  A  moment 
later  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  ;  two  gaunt  lean 
figures  rushed  upon  her  from  the  forest.  No  doubt 
she  had  courted  her  fate,  but  Abbleway  had  no  wish 
to  see  a  human  being  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured 
before  his  eyes. 

When  he  looked  at  last  a  new  sensation  of  scan- 
dalized astonishment  took  possession  of  him.  He  had 
been  straitly  brought  up  in  a  small  English  town,  and 
209  H* 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

he  was  not  prepared  to  be  the  witness  of  a  miracle. 
The  wolves  were  not  doing  anything  worse  to  the 
woman  than  drench  her  with  snow  as  they  gambolled 
round  her. 

A  short,  joyous  bark  revealed  the  clue  to  the 
situation. 

"  Are  those — dogs  ?  "  he  called  weakly. 

"  My  cousin  Karl's  dogs,  yes,"  she  answered  ; 
"  that  is  his  inn,  over  beyond  the  trees.  I  knew  it 
was  there,  but  I  did  not  want  to  take  you  there  ;  he 
is  always  grasping  with  strangers.  However,  it  grows 
too  cold  to  remain  in  the  train.  Ah,  ah,  see  what 
comes  !  " 

A  whistle  sounded,  and  a  relief  engine  made  its 
appearance,  snorting  its  way  sulkily  through  the 
snow.  Abbleway  did  not  have  the  opportunity  for 
finding  out  whether  Karl  was  really  avaricious. 


210 


THE      LUMBER-ROOM 

THE  children  were  to  be  driven,  as  a  special 
treat,  to  the  sands  at  Jagborough.  Nicholas 
was  not  to  be  of  the  party  ;  he  was  in  disgrace.  Only 
that  morning  he  had  refused  to  eat  his  wholesome 
bread-and-milk  on  the  seemingly  frivolous  ground  that 
there  was  a  frog  in  it.  Older  and  wiser  and  better 
people  had  told  him  that  there  could  not  possibly  be  a 
frog  in  his  bread-and-milk  and  that  he  was  not  to  talk 
nonsense ;  he  continued,  nevertheless,  to  talk  what 
seemed  the  veriest  nonsense,  and  described  with  much 
detail  the  colouration  and  markings  of  the  alleged 
frog.  The  dramatic  part  of  the  incident  was  that  there 
really  was  a  frog  in  Nicholas'  basin  of  bread-and- 
milk  ;  he  had  put  it  there  himself,  so  he  felt  entitled 
to  know  something  about  it.  The  sin  of  taking  a 
frog  from  the  garden  and  putting  it  into  a  bowl  of 
wholesome  bread-and-milk  was  enlarged  on  at  great 
length,  but  the  fact  that  stood  out  clearest  in  the 
whole  affair,  as  it  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of 
Nicholas,  was  that  the  older,  wiser,  and  better  people 
had  been  proved  to  be  profoundly  in  error  in  matters 
about  which  they  had  expressed  the  utmost  assurance. 
"  You  said  there  couldn't  possibly  be  a  frog  in  my 
bread-and-milk  ;  there  was  a  frog  in  my  bread-and- 
milk,"  he  repeated,  with  the  insistence  of  a  skilled 
tactician  who  does  not  intend  to  shift  from  favourable 
ground. 

211 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

So  "his  boy-cousin  and  girl-cousin  and  his  quite 
uninteresting  younger  brother  were  to  be  taken  to 
Jagborough  sands  that  afternoon  and  he  was  to  stay 
at  home.  His  cousins'  aunt,  who  insisted,  by  an 
unwarranted  stretch  of  imagination,  in  styHng  herself 
his  aunt  also,  had  hastily  invented  the  Jagborough 
expedition  in  order  to  impress  on  Nicholas  the  delights 
that  he  had  justly  forfeited  by  his  disgraceful  conduct 
at  the  breakfast-table.  It  was  her  habit,  whenever 
one  of  the  children  fell  from  grace,  to  improvise 
something  of  a  festival  nature  from  which  the  offender 
would  be  rigorously  debarred  ;  if  all  the  children 
sinned  collectively  they  were  suddenly  informed  of  a 
circus  in  a  neighbouring  town,  a  circus  of  unrivalled 
merit  and  uncounted  elephants,  to  which,  but  for  their 
depravity,  they  would  have  been  taken  that  very  day. 

A  few  decent  tears  were  looked  for  on  the  part  of 
Nicholas  when  the  moment  for  the  departure  of  the 
expedition  arrived.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however, 
all  the  crying  was  done  by  his  girl-cousin,  who  scraped 
her  knee  rather  painfully  against  the  step  of  the 
carriage  as  she  was  scrambling  in. 

"  How  she  did  howl,"  said  Nicholas  cheerfully,  as 
the  party  drove  off  without  any  of  the  elation  of  high 
spirits  that  should  have  characterized  it. 

"  She'll  soon  get  over  that,"  said  the  soi-dlsant 
aunt ;  "  it  will  be  a  glorious  afternoon  for  racing 
about  over  those  beautiful  sands.  How  they  will 
enjoy  themselves  !  " 

"  Bobby  won't  enjoy  himself  much,  and  he  won't 
race  much  either,"  said  Nicholas  with  a  grim  chuckle  ; 
"  his  boots  are  hurting  him.     They're  too  tight." 

"  Why  didn't   he  tell  me   they  were  hurting  ?  ** 
asked  the  aunt  with  some  asperity. 
212 


THE      LUMBER-ROOM 

**  He  told  you  twice,  but  you  weren't  listening. 
You  often  don't  listen  when  we  tell  you  important 
things." 

"  You  are  not  to  go  into  the  gooseberry  garden," 
said  the  aunt,  changing  the  subject. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  Nicholas. 

"  Because  you  are  in  disgrace,"  said  the  aunt  loftily. 

Nicholas  did  not  admit  the  flawlessness  of  the 
reasoning ;  he  felt  perfectly  capable  of  being  in 
disgrace  and  in  a  gooseberry  garden  at  the  same 
moment.  His  face  took  on  an  expression  of  con- 
siderable obstinacy.  It  was  clear  to  his  aunt  that  he 
was  determined  to  get  into  the  gooseberry  garden, 
"  only,"  as  she  remarked  to  herself,  "  because  I  have 
told  him  he  is  not  to." 

Now  the  gooseberry  garden  had  two  doors  by 
which  it  might  be  entered,  and  once  a  small  person 
like  Nicholas  could  slip  in  there  he  could  effectually 
disappear  from  view  amid  the  masking  growth  of 
artichokes,  raspberry  canes,  and  fruit  bushes.  The 
aunt  had  many  other  things  to  do  that  afternoon,  but 
she  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  trivial  gardening  operations 
among  flower  beds  and  shrubberies,  whence  she  could 
keep  a  watchful  eye  on  the  two  doors  that  led  to  the 
forbidden  paradise.  She  was  a  woman  of  few  ideas, 
with  immense  powers  of  concentration. 

Nicholas  made  one  or  two  sorties  into  the  front 
garden,  wriggling  his  way  with  obvious  stealth  of 
purpose  towards  one  or  other  of  the  doors,  but  never 
able  for  a  moment  to  evade  the  aunt's  watchful  eye. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  no  intention  of  trying  to 
get  into  the  gooseberry  garden,  but  it  was  extremely 
convenient  for  him  that  his  aunt  should  believe  that 
he  had  ;  it  was  a  belief  that  would  keep  her  on  self- 
213 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

imposed  sentry-duty  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
afternoon.  Having  thoroughly  confirmed  and  forti- 
fied her  suspicions,  Nicholas  slipped  back  into  the 
house  and  rapidly  put  into  execution  a  plan  of  action 
that  had  long  germinated  in  his  brain.  By  standing 
on  a  chair  in  the  library  one  could  reach  a  shelf  on 
which  reposed  a  fat,  important-looking  key.  The 
key  was  as  important  as  it  looked  ;  it  was  the  instru- 
ment which  kept  the  mysteries  of  the  lumber-room 
secure  from  unauthorized  intrusion,  which  opened  a 
way  only  for  aunts  and  such-like  privileged  persons. 
Nicholas  had  not  had  much  experience  of  the  art  of 
fitting  keys  into  keyholes  and  turning  locks,  but  for 
some  days  past  he  had  practised  with  the  key  of  the 
schoolroom  door  ;  he  did  not  beheve  in  trusting  too 
much  to  luck  and  accident.  The  key  turned  stiffly 
in  the  lock,  but  it  turned.  The  door  opened,  and 
Nicholas  was  in  an  unknown  land,  compared  with 
which  the  gooseberry  garden  was  a  stale  delight,  a 
mere  material  pleasure. 

Often  and  often  Nicholas  had  pictured  to  himself 
what  the  lumber-room  might  be  like,  that  region  that 
was  so  carefully  sealed  from  youthful  eyes  and  con- 
cerning which  no  questions  were  ever  answered.  It 
came  up  to  his  expectations.  In  the  first  place  it  was 
large  and  dimly  lit,  one  high  window  opening  on  to 
the  forbidden  garden  being  its  only  source  of  illumina- 
tion. In  the  second  place  it  was  a  storehouse  of 
unimagined  treasures.  The  aunt-by-assertion  was 
one  of  those  people  who  think  that  things  spoil  by  use 
and  consign  them  to  dust  and  damp  by  way  of  preserv- 
ing them.  Such  parts  of  the  house  as  Nicholas  knew 
best  were  rather  bare  and  cheerless,  but  here  there 
were  wonderful  things  for  the  eye  to  feast  on.  First 
214 


THE      LUMBER-ROOM 

and  foremost  there  was  a  piece  of  framed  tapestry  that 
was  evidently  meant  to  be  a  fire-screen.  To  Nicholas 
it  was  a  living,  breathing  story  ;  he  sat  down  on  a  roll 
of  Indian  hangings,  glowing  in  wonderful  colours 
beneath  a  layer  of  dust,  and  took  in  all  the  details  of 
the  tapestry  picture.  A  man,  dressed  in  the  hunting 
costume  of  some  remote  period,  had  just  transfixed  a 
stag  with  an  arrow  ;  it  could  not  have  been  a  difficult 
shot  because  the  stag  was  only  one  or  two  paces  away 
from  him  ;  in  the  thickly-growing  vegetation  that  the 
picture  suggested  it  would  not  have  been  difficult  to 
creep  up  to  a  feeding  stag,  and  the  two  spotted  dogs 
that  were  springing  forward  to  join  in  the  chase  had 
evidently  been  trained  to  keep  to  heel  till  the  arrow 
was  discharged.  That  part  of  the  picture  was  simple, 
if  interesting,  but  did  the  huntsman  see,  what  Nicholas 
saw,  that  four  galloping  wolves  were  coming  in  his 
direction  through  the  wood  ?  There  might  be  more 
than  four  of  them  hidden  behind  the  trees,  and  in  any 
case  would  the  man  and  his  dogs  be  able  to  cope 
with  the  four  wolves  if  they  made  an  attack  ?  The 
man  had  only  two  arrows  left  in  his  quiver,  and  he 
might  miss  with  one  or  both  of  them  ;  all  one  knew 
about  his  skill  in  shooting  was  that  he  could  hit  a  large 
stag  at  a  ridiculously  short  range.  Nicholas  sat  for 
many  golden  minutes  revolving  the  possibilities  of  the 
scene  ;  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  there  were  more 
than  four  wolves  and  that  the  man  and  his  dogs  were 
in  a  tight  corner. 

But  there  were  other  objects  of  delight  and  interest 
claiming  his  instant  attention  :  there  were  quaint 
twisted  candlesticks  in  the  shape  of  snakes,  and  a 
teapot  fashioned  like  a  china  duck,  out  of  whose  open 
beak  the  tea  was  supposed  to  come.  How  dull  and 
215 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

shapeless  the  nursery  teapot  seemed  in  comparison  ! 
And  there  was  a  carved  sandal-wood  box  packed  tight 
with  aromatic  cottonwool,  and  between  the  layers  of 
cottonwool  were  little  brass  figures,  hump-necked 
bulls,  and  peacocks  and  goblins,  delightful  to  see  and 
to  handle.  Less  promising  in  appearance  was  a  large 
square  book  with  plain  black  covers  ;  Nicholas  peeped 
into  it,  and,  behold,  it  was  full  of  coloured  pictures  of 
birds.  And  such  birds  !  In  the  garden,  and  in  the 
lanes  when  he  went  for  a  walk,  Nicholas  came  across 
a  few  birds,  of  which  the  largest  were  an  occasional 
magpie  or  wood-pigeon  ;  here  were  herons  and 
bustards,  kites,  toucans,  tiger-bitterns,  brush  turkeys, 
ibises,  golden  pheasants,  a  whole  portrait  gallery  of 
undreamed-of  creatures.  And  as  he  was  admiring 
the  colouring  of  the  mandarin  duck  and  assigning  a 
life-history  to  it,  the  voice  of  his  aunt  in  shrill  vocifera- 
tion of  his  name  came  from  the  gooseberry  garden 
without.  She  had  grown  suspicious  at  his  long  dis- 
appearance, and  had  leapt  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
climbed  over  the  wall  behind  the  sheltering  screen  of 
the  lilac  bushes  ;  she  was  now  engaged  in  energetic 
and  rather  hopeless  search  for  him  among  the  artichokes 
and  raspberry  canes. 

"  Nicholas,  Nicholas  !  "  she  screamed,  "  you  are  to 
come  out  of  this  at  once.  It's  no  use  trying  to  hide 
there  ;   I  can  see  you  all  the  time." 

It  was  probably  the  first  time  for  twenty  years  that 
anyone  had  smiled  in  that  lumber-room. 

Presently  the  angry  repetitions  of  Nicholas'  name 
gave  way  to  a  shriek,  and  a  cry  for  somebody  to  come 
quickly.  Nicholas  shut  the  book,  restored  it  carefully 
to  its  place  in  a  corner,  and  shook  some  dust  from  a 
neighbouring  pile  of  newspapers  over  it.  Then  he 
2l6 


THE      LUMBER-ROOM 

crept  from  the  room,  locked  the  door,  and  replaced 
the  key  exactly  where  he  had  found  it.  His  aunt  was 
still  calling  his  name  when  he  sauntered  into  the  front 
garden. 

"  Who's  calling  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Me,"  came  the  answer  from  the  other  side  of  the 
wall  ;  "  didn't  you  hear  me  ?  I've  been  looking  for 
you  in  the  gooseberry  garden,  and  I've  slipped  into  the 
rain-water  tank.  Luckily  there's  no  water  in  it,  but 
the  sides  are  slippery  and  I  can't  get  out.  Fetch 
the  little  ladder  from  under  the  cherry  tree " 

"  I  was  told  I  wasn't  to  go  into  the  gooseberry 
garden,"  said  Nicholas  promptly. 

"  I  told  you  not  to,  and  now  I  tell  you  that  you 
may,"  came  the  voice  from  the  rain-water  tank, 
rather  impatiently. 

"  Your  voice  doesn't  sound  like  aunt's,"  objected 
Nicholas  ;  "  you  may  be  the  Evil  One  tempting  me 
to  be  disobedient.  Aunt  often  tells  me  that  the  Evil 
One  tempts  me  and  that  I  always  yield.  This  time 
I'm  not  going  to  yield." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  prisoner  in  the 
tank  ;    "  go  and  fetch  the  ladder." 

"  Will  there  be  strawberry  jam  for  tea  ?  "  asked 
Nicholas  innocently. 

"  Certainly  there  will  be,"  said  the  aunt,  privately 
resolving  that  Nicholas  should  have  none  of  it. 

**  Now  I  know  that  you  are  the  Evil  One  and  not 
aunt,"  shouted  Nicholas  gleefully  ;  "  when  we  asked 
aunt  for  strawberry  jam  yesterday  she  said  there  wasn't 
any.  ^I  know  there  are  four  jars  of  it  in  the  store 
cupboard,  because  I  looked,  and  of  course  you  know 
it's  there,  but  she  doesn't,  because  she  said  there  wasn'* 
any.  Oh,  Devil,  you  have  sold  yourself !  " 
217 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

There  was  an  unusual  sense  of  luxury  in  being 
able  to  talk  to  an  aunt  as  though  one  was  talking  to 
the  Evil  One,  but  Nicholas  knew,  with  childish  dis- 
cernment, that  such  luxuries  were  not  to  be  over- 
indulged in.  He  walked  noisily  away,  and  it  was 
a  kitchenmaid,  in  search  of  parsley,  who  eventually 
rescued  the  aunt  from  the  rain-water  tank. 

Tea  that  evening  was  partaken  of  in  a  fearsome 
silence.  The  tide  had  been  at  its  highest  when  the 
children  had  arrived  at  Jagborough  Cove,  so  there  had 
been  no  sands  to  play  on — a  circumstance  that  the 
aunt  had  overlooked  in  the  haste  of  organizing  her 
punitive  expedition.  The  tightness  of  Bobby's  boots 
had  had  disastrous  effect  on  his  temper  the  whole  of 
the  afternoon,  and  altogether  the  children  could  not 
have  been  said  to  have  enjoyed  themselves.  The 
aunt  maintained  the  frozen  muteness  of  one  who  has 
suffered  undignified  and  unmerited  detention  in  a  rain- 
water tank  for  thirty-five  minutes.  As  for  Nicholas, 
he,  too,  was  silent,  in  the  absorption  of  one  who  has 
much  to  think  about  ;  it  was  just  possible,  he  con- 
sidered, that  the  huntsman  would  escape  with  his 
hounds  while  the  wolves  feasted  on  the  stricken  stag. 


2l8 


FUR 

"  '\7'OU  look  worried,  dear,"  said  Eleanor. 

X  "I  am  worried,"  admitted  Suzanne  ;  ** not 
worried  exactly,  but  anxious.  You  see,  my  birthday 
happens  next  week " 

"  You  lucky  person,"  interrupted  Eleanor  ;  **  my 
birthday  doesn't  come  till  the  end  of  March." 

"  Well,  old  Bertram  Kneyght  is  over  in  England 
just  now  from  the  Argentine.  He's  a  kind  of  distant 
cousin  of  my  mother's,  and  so  enormously  rich  that 
we've  never  let  the  relationship  drop  out  of  sight. 
Even  if  we  don't  see  him  or  hear  from  him  for  years 
he  is  always  Cousin  Bertram  when  he  does  turn  up. 
I  can't  say  he's  ever  been  of  much  solid  use  to  us, 
but  yesterday  the  subject  of  my  birthday  cropped 
up,  and  he  asked  me  to  let  him  know  what  I  wanted 
for  a  present." 

"  Now  I  understand  the  anxiety,"  observed  Eleanor. 

"  As  a  rule  when  one  is  confronted  with  a  problem 
like  that,"  said  Suzanne,  "  all  one's  ideas  vanish ; 
one  doesn't  seem  to  have  a  desire  in  the  world  Now 
it  so  happens  that  I  have  been  very  keen  on  a  little 
Dresden  figure  that  I  saw  somewhere  in  Kensington  ; 
about  thirty-six  shillings,  quite  beyond  my  means.  I 
was  very  nearly  describing  the  figure,  and  giving  Ber- 
tram the  address  of  the  shop.  And  then  it  suddenly 
struck  me  that  thirty-six  shillings  was  such  a  ridiculously 
inadequate  sum  for  a  man  of  his  immense  wealth  to 
219 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

spend  on  a  birthday  present.  He  could  give  thirty-six 
pounds  as  easily  as  you  or  I  could  buy  a  bunch  of  violets. 
I  don't  want  to  be  greedy,  of  course,  but  I  don't  like 
being  vi^asteful." 

**  The  question  is,"  said  Eleanor,  "  what  are  his 
ideas  as  to  present-giving  ?  Some  of  the  wealthiest 
people  have  curiously  cramped  views  on  that  subject. 
When  people  grow  gradually  rich  their  requirements 
and  standard  of  living  expand  in  proportion,  while 
their  present-giving  instincts  often  remain  in  the 
undeveloped  condition  of  their  earlier  days.  Some- 
thing showy  and  not-too-expensive  in  a  shop  is  their 
only  conception  of  the  ideal  gift.  That  is  why  even 
quite  good  shops  have  their  counters  and  windows 
crowded  with  things  worth  about  four  shillings  that 
look  as  if  they  might  be  worth  seven-and-six,  and  are 
priced  at  ten  shillings  and  labelled  'seasonable  gifts.'  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Suzanne  ;  "  that  is  why  it  is  so 
risky  to  be  vague  when  one  is  giving  indications  of 
one's  wants.  Now  if  I  say  to  him  :  '  I  am  going  out 
to  Davos  this  winter,  so  anything  in  the  travelling  line 
would  be  acceptable,'  he  might  give  me  a  dressing-bag 
with  gold-mounted  fittings,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
might  give  me  Baedeker's  Switzerland,  or  '  Ski-ing 
without  Tears,'  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  He  would  be  more  likely  to  say  :  '  She'll  be  going 
to  lots  of  dances,  a  fan  will  be  sure  to  be  useful.'  " 

"  Yes,  and  I've  got  tons  of  fans,  so  you  see  where 
the  danger  and  anxiety  lies.  Now  if  there  is  one  thing 
more  than  another  that  I  really  urgently  want  it  is 
furs.  I  simply  haven't  any.  I'm  told  that  Davos  is 
full  of  Russians,  and  they  are  sure  to  wear  the  most 
lovely  sables  and  things.  To  be  among  people  who 
are  smothered  in  furs  when  one  hasn't  any  oneself 
220 


FUR 

makes  one  want  to  break  most  of  the    Command- 
ments." 

"  If  it's  furs  that  you're  out  for,"  said  Eleanor, 
"  you  will  have  to  superintend  the  choice  of  them  in 
person.  You  can't  be  sure  that  your  cousin  knows 
the  difference  between  silver-fox  and  ordinary  squirrel." 

"  There  are  some  heavenly  silver-fox  stoles  at 
Goliath  and  Mastodon's,"  said  Suzanne,  with  a  sigh  ; 
"  if  I  could  only  inveigle  Bertram  into  their  building 
and  take  him  for  a  stroll  through  the  fur  department  !  " 

"  He  lives  somewhere  near  there,  doesn't  he  ?  " 
said  Eleanor.  "  Do  you  know  what  his  habits  are  ? 
Does  he  take  a  walk  at  any  particular  time  of 
day  ?  '* 

"  He  usually  walks  down  to  his  club  about  three 
o'clock,  if  it's  a  fine  day.  That  takes  him  right  past 
Goliath  and  Mastodon's." 

"  Let  us  two  meet  him  accidentally  at  the  street 
corner  to-morrow,"  said  Eleanor  ;  "  we  can  walk  a 
little  way  with  him,  and  with  luck  we  ought  to  be 
able  to  side-track  him  into  the  shop.  You  can  say 
you  want  to  get  a  hair-net  or  something.  When 
we're  safely  there  I  can  say  :  '  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
what  you  want  for  your  birthday.'  Then  you'll  have 
everything  ready  to  hand — the  rich  cousin,  the  fur 
department,  and  the  topic  of  birthday  presents." 

"  It's  a  great  idea,"  said  Suzanne  ;  "  you  really 
are  a  brick.  Come  round  to-morrow  at  twenty  to 
three  ;  don't  be  late,  we  must  carry  out  our  ambush 
to  the  minute." 

At  a  few  minutes  to  three  the  next  afternoon  the 
fur-trappers  walked  warily  towards  the  selected  corner. 
In  the  near  distance  rose  the  colossal  pile  of  Messrs. 
Goliath  and  Mastodon's  famed  establishment.     The 

221 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

afternoon  was  brilliantly  fine,  exactly  the  sort  of 
weather  to  tempt  a  gentleman  of  advancing  years  into 
the  discreet  exercise  of  a  leisurely  walk. 

"  I  say,  dear,  I  wish  you'd  do  something  for  me 
this  evening,"  said  Eleanor  to  her  companion  ;  "just 
drop  in  after  dinner  on  some  pretext  or  other,  and 
stay  on  to  make  a  fourth  at  bridge  with  Adela  and 
the  aunts.  Otherwise  I  shall  have  to  play,  and  Harry 
Scarisbrooke  is  going  to  come  in  unexpectedly  about 
nine-fifteen,  and  I  particularly  wanted  to  be  free  to 
talk  to  him  while  the  others  are  playing." 

"  Sorry,  my  dear,  no  can  do,"  said  Suzanne ; 
"ordinary  bridge  at  threepence  a  hundred,  with  such 
dreadfully  slow  players  as  your  aunts,  bores  me  to 
tears.     I  nearly  go  to  sleep  over  it." 

"  But  I  most  particularly  want  an  opportunity 
to  talk  with  Harry,"  urged  Eleanor,  an  angry  glint 
coming  into  her  eyes. 

"  Sorry,  anything  to  oblige,  but  not  that,"  said 
Suzanne  cheerfully  ;  the  sacrifices  of  friendship  were 
beautiful  in  her  eyes  as  long  as  she  was  not  asked 
to  make  them. 

Eleanor  said  nothing  further  on  the  subject,  but 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  rearranged  themselves. 

"  There's  our  man  ! "  exclaimed  Suzanne  sud- 
denly ;    "  hurry  !  " 

Mr.  Bertram  Kneyght  greeted  his  cousin  and  her 
friend  with  genuine  heartiness,  and  readily  accepted 
their  invitation  to  explore  the  crowded  mart  that 
stood  temptingly  at  their  elbow.  The  plate-glass 
doors  swung  open  and  the  trio  plunged  bravely  into 
the  jostling  throng  of  buyers  and  loiterers. 

"  Is  it  always  as  full  as  this  ?  "  asked  Bertram  of 
Eleanor. 

222 


FUR 

"  More  or  less,  and  autumn  sales  are  on  just  now," 
she  replied. 

Suzanne,  in  her  anxiety  to  pilot  her  cousin  to  the 
desired  haven  of  the  fur  department,  was  usually 
a  few  paces  ahead  of  the  others,  coming  back  to  them 
now  and  then  if  they  lingered  for  a  moment  at  some 
attractive  counter,  with  the  nervous  solicitude  of  a 
parent  rook  encouraging  its  young  ones  on  their 
first  flying  expedition. 

"  It's  Suzanne's  birthday  on  Wednesday  next," 
confided  Eleanor  to  Bertram  Kneyght  at  a  moment 
when  Suzanne  had  left  them  unusually  far  behind  ; 
"  my  birthday  comes  the  day  before,  so  we  are  both 
on  the  look-out  for  something  to  give  each  other." 

"  Ah,"  said  Bertram.  "  Now,  perhaps  you  can 
advise  me  on  that  very  point.  I  want  to  give  Su- 
zanne something,  and  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what 
she  wants." 

"  She's  rather  a  problem,"  said  Eleanor.  "  She 
seems  to  have  everything  one  can  think  of,  lucky 
girl.  A  fan  is  always  useful  ;  she'll  be  going  to  a 
lot  of  dances  at  Davos  this  winter.  Yes,  I  should 
think  a  fan  would  please  her  more  than  anything. 
After  our  birthdays  are  over  we  inspect  each  other's 
muster  of  presents,  and  I  always  feel  dreadfully  humble. 
She  gets  such  nice  things,  and  I  never  have  anything 
worth  showing.  You  see,  none  of  my  relations  or 
any  of  the  people  who  give  me  presents  are  at  all 
well  off,  so  I  can't  expect  them  to  do  anything  more 
than  just  remember  the  day  with  some  little  trifle. 
Two  years  ago  an  uncle  on  my  mother's  side  of  the 
family,  who  had  come  into  a  small  legacy,  promised 
me  a  silver- fox  stole  for  my  birthday.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  excited  I  was  about  it,  how  I  pictured  my- 
22^ 


BEASTS       AND     SUPER-BEASTS 

self  showing  it  off  to  all  my  friends  and  enemies. 
Then  just  at  that  moment  his  wife  died,  and,  of  course, 
poor  man,  he  could  not  be  expected  to  think  of  birth- 
day presents  at  such  a  time.  He  has  lived  abroad 
ever  since,  and  I  never  got  my  fur.  Do  you  know, 
to  this  day  I  can  scarcely  look  at  a  silver-fox  pelt  in 
a  shop  window  or  round  anyone's  neck  without  feel- 
ing ready  to  burst  into  tears.  I  suppose  if  I  hadn't 
had  the  prospect  of  getting  one  I  shouldn't  feel  that 
way.  Look,  there  is  the  fan  counter,  on  your  left ; 
you  can  easily  slip  away  in  the  crowd.  Get  her  as 
nice  a  one  as  you  can  see — she  is  such  a  dear,  dear  girl." 

"  Hullo,  I  thought  I  had  lost  you,"  said  Suzanne, 
making  her  way  through  an  obstructive  knot  of 
shoppers.      "  Where  is  Bertram  ?  " 

"  I  got  separated  from  him  long  ago.  I  thought 
he  was  on  ahead  with  you,"  said  Eleanor.  *'  We 
shall  never  find  him  in  this  crush." 

Which  turned  out  to  be  a  true  prediction. 

"  All  our  trouble  and  forethought  thrown  away," 
said  Suzanne  sulkily,  when  they  had  pushed  their 
way  fruitlessly  through  half  a  dozen  departments. 

"  I  can't  think  why  you  didn't  grab  him  by  the 
arm,"  said  Eleanor  ;  "  I  would  have  if  I'd  known 
him  longer,  but  I'd  only  just  been  introduced.  It'3 
nearly  four  now,  we'd  better  have  tea." 

Some  days  later  Suzanne  rang  Eleanor  up  on  the 
telephone. 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  the  photograph  frame. 
It  was  just  what  I  wanted.  Very  good  of  you.  I 
say,  do  you  know  what  that  Kneyght  person  has  given 
me  ?  Just  what  you  said  he  would — a  wretched  fan. 
What  ?  Oh  yes,  quite  a  good  enough  fan  in  its 
way,  but  still.  .  .  .'* 

2-24 


FUR 

**  You  must  come  and  &ee  what  he's  given  me,** 
came  in  Eleanor's  voice  over  the  '  phone. 

"  You  !     Why  should  he  give  you  anything  ?  " 

"  Your  cousin  appears  to  be  one  of  those  rare 
people  of  wealth  who  take  a  pleasure  in  giving  good 
presents,"  came  the  reply. 

"  I  wondered  why  he  was  so  anxious  to  know  where 
she  lived,"  snapped  Suzanne  to  herself  as  she  rang 
off. 

A  cloud  has  arisen  between  the  friendships  of  the 
two  young  women  ;  as  far  as  Eleanor  is  concerned 
the  cloud  has  a  silver-fox  lining. 


2*5 


THE       PHILANTHROPIST       AND 
THE       HAPPY       CAT 

JOCANTHA  BESSBURY  was  in  the  mood  to 
be  serenely  and  graciously  happy.  Her  world 
was  a  pleasant  place,  and  it  was  wearing  one  of  its 
pleasantest  aspects,  Gregory  had  managed  to  get 
home  for  a  hurried  lunch  and  a  smoke  afterwards  in 
the  little  snuggery  ;  the  lunch  had  been  a  good  one, 
and  there  was  just  time  to  do  justice  to  the  coffee 
and  cigarettes.  Both  were  excellent  in  their  way, 
and  Gregory  was,  in  this  way,  an  excellent  husband. 
Jocantha  rather  suspected  herself  of  nxaking  him  a  very 
charming  wife,  and  more  than  suspected  herself  of 
having  a  first-rate  dressmaker, 

"  I  don't  suppose  a  more  thoroughly  contented 
personality  is  to  be  found  in  all  Chelsea,"  observed 
Jocantha  in  allusion  to  herself ;  "  except  perhaps 
Attab,"  she  continued,  glancing  towards  the  large 
tabby-marked  cat  that  lay  in  considerable  ease  in  a 
corner  of  the  divan.  "  He  lies  there,  purring  and 
dreaming,  shifting  his  limbs  now  and  then  in  an 
ecstasy  of  cushioned  comfort.  He  seems  the  incar- 
nation of  everything  soft  and  silky  and  velvety,  with- 
out a  sharp  edge  in  his  composition,  a  dreamer  whose 
philosophy  is  sleep  and  let  sleep  ;  and  then,  as 
evening  draws  on,  he  goes  out  into  the  garden  with 
a  red  glint  in  his  eyes  and  slays  a  drowsy  sparrow." 

**  As  every  pair  of  sparrows  hatches  out  ten  or 
226 


THE      PHILANTHROPIST 

more  young  ones  in  the  year,  while  their  food  supply 
remains  stationary,  it  is  just  as  well  that  the  Attabs 
of  the  community  should  have  that  idea  of  how  to 
pass  an  amusing  afternoon,"  said  Gregory.  Having 
delivered  himself  of  this  sage  comment  he  lit  another 
cigarette,  bade  Jocantha  a  playfully  affectionate  good- 
bye, and  departed  into  the  outer  world. 

"  Remember,  dinner's  a  wee  bit  earlier  to-night, 
as  we're  going  to  the  Haymarket,"  she  called  after 
him. 

Left  to  herself,  Jocantha  continued  the  process  of 
looking  at  her  life  with  placid,  introspective  eyes.  If 
she  had  not  everything  she  wanted  in  this  world, 
at  least  she  was  very  well  pleased  with  what  she  had 
got.  She  was  very  well  pleased,  for  instance,  with 
the  snuggery,  which  contrived  somehow  to  be  cosy 
and  dainty  and  expensive  all  at  once.  The  porcelain 
was  rare  and  beautiful,  the  Chinese  enamels  took 
on  wonderful  tints  in  the  firelight,  the  rugs  and 
hangings  led  the  eye  through  sumptuous  har- 
monies of  colouring.  It  was  a  room  in  which  one 
might  have  suitably  entertained  an  ambassador  or  an 
archbishop,  but  it  was  also  a  room  in  which  one  could 
cut  out  pictures  for  a  scrap-book  without  feeling  that 
one  was  scandalizing  the  deities  of  the  place  with  one's 
litter.  And  as  with  the  snuggery,  so  with  the  rest 
of  the  house,  and  as  with  the  house,  so  with  the  other 
departments  of  Jocantha's  life  ;  she  really  had  good 
reason  for  being  one  of  the  most  contented  women  in 
Chelsea. 

From  being  in  a  mood  of  simmering  satisfaction 
with  her  lot  she  passed  to  the  phase  of  being  gener- 
ously commiserating  for  those  thousands  around  her 
whose    lives    and    circumstances    were    dull,    cheap, 
227 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

pleasureless,  and  empty.  Work  girls,  shop  assistants 
and  so  forth,  the  class  that  have  neither  the  happy- 
go-lucky  freedom  of  the  poor  nor  the  leisured  freedom 
of  the  rich,  came  specially  within  the  range  of  her 
sympathy.  It  was  sad  to  think  that  there  were  young 
people  who,  after  a  long  day's  work,  had  to  sit  alone 
in  chill,  dreary  bedrooms  because  they  could  not 
afford  the  price  of  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  sandwich  in 
a  restaurant,  still  less  a  shilling  for  a  theatre  gallery. 

Jocantha's  mind  was  still  dwelling  on  this  theme 
when  she  started  forth  on  an  afternoon  campaign 
of  desultory  shopping  ;  it  would  be  rather  a  comfort- 
ing thing,  she  told  herself,  if  she  could  do  something, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  to  bring  a  gleam  of  pleasure 
and  interest  into  the  life  of  even  one  or  two  wistful- 
hearted,  empty-pocketed  workers  ;  it  would  add  a 
good  deal  to  her  sense  of  enjoyment  at  the  theatre 
that  night.  She  would  get  two  upper  circle  tickets 
for  a  popular  play,  make  her  way  into  some  cheap 
tea-shop,  and  present  the  tickets  to  the  first  couple  of 
interesting  work  girls  with  whom  she  could  casually 
drop  into  conversation.  She  could  explain  matters  by 
saying  that  she  was  unable  to  use  the  tickets  herself 
and  did  not  want  them  to  be  wasted,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  did  not  want  the  trouble  of  sending  them 
back.  On  further  reflection  she  decided  that  it  might 
be  better  to  get  only  one  ticket  and  give  it  to  some 
lonely-looking  girl  sitting  eating  her  frugal  meal  by 
herself;  the  girl  might  scrape  acquaintance  with  her 
next-seat  neighbour  at  the  theatre  and  lay  the  found- 
ations of  a  lasting  friendship. 

With  the  Fairy  Godmother  impulse  strong  upon 
her,   Jocantha    marched    into    a    ticket    agency    and 
selected  with  immense  care  an  upper  circle  seat  for 
228 


THE      PHILANTHROPIST 

the  "  Yellow  Peacock,"  a  play  that  was  attracting 
a  considerable  amount  of  discussion  and  criticism. 
Then  she  went  forth  in  search  of  a  tea-shop  and  phil- 
anthropic adventure,  at  about  the  same  time  that 
Attab  sauntered  into  the  garden  with  a  mind  attuned 
to  sparrow  stalking.  In  a  corner  of  an  A. B.C.  shop 
she  found  an  unoccupied  table,  whereat  she  promptly 
installed  herself,  impelled  by  the  fact  that  at  the  next 
table  was  sitting  a  young  girl,  rather  plain  of  feature, 
with  tired,  listless  eyes  and  a  general  air  of  uncom- 
plaining forlornness.  Her  dress  was  of  poor  material, 
but  aimed  at  being  in  the  fashion,  her  hair  was  pretty, 
and  her  complexion  bad  ;  she  was  finishing  a  modest 
meal  of  tea  and  scone,  and  she  was  not  very  different 
in  her  way  from  thousands  of  other  girls  v/ho  were 
finishing,  or  beginning,  or  continuing  their  teas  in 
London  tea-shops  at  that  exact  moment.  The  odds 
were  enormously  in  favour  of  the  supposition  that  she 
had  never  seen  the  "  Yellow  Peacock  "  ;  obviously 
she  supplied  excellent  material  for  Jocantha's  first 
experiment  in  haphazard  benefaction. 

Jocantha  ordered  some  tea  and  a  muffin,  and  then 
turned  a  friendly  scrutiny  on  her  neighbour  with  a 
view  to  catching  her  eye.  At  that  precise  moment 
the  girl's  face  lit  up  with  sudden  pleasure,  her  eyes 
sparkled,  a  flush  came  into  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked 
almost  pretty.  A  young  man,  whom  she  greeted 
with  an  affectionate  "  Hullo,  Bertie"  came  up  to 
her  table  and  took  his  seat  in  a  chair  facing  her. 
Jocantha  looked  hard  at  the  new-comer  ;  he  was  in 
appearance  a  few  years  younger  than  herself,  very 
much  better  looking  than  Gregory,  rather  better  look- 
ing, in  fact,  than  any  of  the  young  men  of  her  set. 
She  guessed  him  to  be  a  well-mannered  young  clerk 
229 


BEASTS      AND      SUPER-BEASTS 

in  some  wholesale  warehouse,  existing  and  amusing 
himself  as  best  he  might  on  a  tiny  salary,  and  com- 
manding a  holiday  of  about  two  weeks  in  the  year. 
He  was  aware,  of  course,  of  his  good  looks,  but  with 
the  shy  self-consciousness  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  not  the 
blatant  complacency  of  the  Latin  or  Semite.     He  was 
obviously  on  terms  of  friendly  intimacy  with  the  girl 
he  was  talking  too,  probably  they  were  drifting  towards 
a  formal  engagement.     Jocantha  pictured   the  boy's 
home,  in  a  rather  narrow  circle,  with  a  tiresome  mother 
who  always  wanted  to  know  how  and  where  he  spent 
his   evenings.      He   would   exchange   that   humdrum 
thraldom  in  due  course  for  a  home  of  his  own,  domin- 
ated by  a  chronic  scarcity  of  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence,  and  a  dearth  of  most  of  the  things  that  made 
life  attractive  or  comfortable.     Jocantha  felt  extremely 
sorry   for  him.      She  wondered  if  he  had  seen  the 
"  Yellow  Peacock  "  ;    the  odds  were  enormously  in 
favour  of  the  supposition  that  he  had  not.     The  girl 
had  finished  her  tea,  and  would  shortly  be  going  back 
to  her  work  ;    when  the  boy  was  alone  it  would  be 
quite  easy  for  Jocantha  to  say  :    "  My  husband  has 
made  other  arrangements  for  me  this  evening  ;  would 
you  care  to  make  use  of  this  ticket,  which  would 
otherwise  be  wasted  ? "     Then  she  could  come  there 
again  one  afternoon  for  tea,  and,  if  she  saw  him, 
ask  him  how  he  liked   the  play.      If  he  was  a  nice 
boy  and  improved  on  acquaintance  he  could  be  given 
more  theatre  tickets  and  perhaps  asked  to  come  one 
Sunday  to  tea  at  Chelsea.     Jocantha  made  up  her 
mind  that  he  would  improve  on  acquaintance,  and 
that   Gregory  would   like   him,   and   that   the   Fairy 
Godmother   business    would    prove    far   more   enter- 
taining than  she  had  originally  anticipated.     The  boy 
230 


THE       PHILANTHROPIST 

was  distinctly  presentable  ;  he  knew  how  to  brush 
his  hair,  which  was  possibly  an  imitative  faculty  ; 
he  knew  what  colour  of  tie  suited  him,  which  might 
be  intuition  ;  he  was  exactly  the  type  that  Jocantha 
admired,  which  of  course  was  accident.  Altogether 
she  was  rather  pleased  when  the  girl  looked  at  the 
clock  and  bade  a  friendly  but  hurried  farewell  to  her 
companion.  Bertie  nodded  "  good-bye,"  gulped 
down  a  mouthful  of  tea,  and  then  produced  from 
his  overcoat  pocket  a  paper-covered  book,  bearing 
the  title  "  Sepoy  and  Sahib,  a  tale  of  the  great 
Mutiny." 

The  laws  of  tea-shop  etiquette  forbid  that  you 
should  offer  theatre  tickets  to  a  stranger  without 
having  first  caught  the  stranger's  eye.  It  is  even 
better  if  you  can  ask  to  have  a  sugar  basin  passed 
to  you,  having  previously  concealed  the  fact  that 
you  have  a  large  and  well-filled  sugar  basin  on  your 
own  table  ;  this  is  not  difficult  to  manage,  as  the 
printed  menu  is  generally  nearly  as  large  as  the  table, 
and  can  be  made  to  stand  on  end.  Jocantha  set  to 
work  hopefully ;  she  had  a  long  and  rather  high- 
pitched  discussion  with  the  waitress  concerning  alleged 
defects  in  an  altogether  blameless  muffin,  she  made 
loud  and  plaintive  inquiries  about  the  tube  service 
to  some  impossibly  remote  suburb,  she  talked  with 
brilliant  insincerity  to  the  tea-shop  kitten,  and  as  a 
last  resort  she  upset  a  milk-jug  and  swore  at  it  daintily. 
Altogether  she  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention, 
but  never  for  a  moment  did  she  attract  the  attention 
of  the  boy  with  the  beautifully-brushed  hair,  who 
was  some  thousands  of  miles  away  in  the  baking  plains 
of  Hindostan,  amid  deserted  bungalows,  seething 
bazaars,  and  riotous  barrack  squares,  listening  to  the 
231 


BEASTS       AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

throbbing  of  tom-toms  and  the  distant  rattle  of  mus- 
ketry. 

Jocantha  went  back  to  her  house  in  Chelsea,  which 
struck  her  for  the  first  time  as  looking  dull  and  over- 
furnished.  She  had  a  resentful  conviction  that 
Gregory  would  be  uninteresting  at  dinner,  and  that 
the  play  would  be  stupid  after  dinner.  On  the  whole 
her  frame  of  mind  showed  a  marked  divergence  from 
the  purring  complacency  of  Attab,  who  was  again 
curled  up  in  his  corner  of  the  divan  with  a  great 
peace  radiating  from  every  curve  of  his  body. 

But  then  he  had  killed  his  sparrow 


a3* 


ON      APPROVAL 

OF  all  the  genuine  Bohemians  who  strayed  from 
time  to  time  into  the  would-be-Bohemian 
circle  of  the  Restaurant  Nuremberg,  Owl  Street, 
Soho,  none  was  more  interesting  and  more  elusive 
than  Gebhard  Knopfschrank.  He  had  no  friends, 
and  though  he  treated  all  the  restaurant  frequenters 
as  acquaintances  he  never  seemed  to  wish  to  carry 
the  acquaintanceship  beyond  the  door  that  led  into 
Owl  Street  and  the  outer  world.  He  dealt  with  them 
all  rather  as  a  market  woman  might  deal  with  chance 
passers-by,  exhibiting  her  wares  and  chattering  about 
the  weather  and  the  slackness  of  business,  occasionally 
about  rheumatism,  but  never  showing  a  desire  to 
penetrate  into  their  daily  lives  or  to  dissect  their 
ambitions. 

He  was  understood  to  belong  to  a  family  of  peaant 
farmers,  somewhere  in  Pomerania  ;  some  two  years 
ago,  according  to  all  that  was  known  of  him,  he  had 
abandoned  the  labours  and  responsibilities  of  swine 
tending  and  goose  rearing  to  try  his  fortune  as  an 
artist  in  London. 

"  Why  London  and  not  Paris  or  Munich  ? "  he 
had  been  asked  by  the  curious. 

Well,  there  was  a  ship  that  left  Stolpmunde  for 

London  twice  a  month,  that  carried  few  passengers, 

but    carried    them    cheaply  ;     the    railway   fares    to 

Munich  or  Paris  were  not  cheap.     Thus  it  was  that 

233 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

he  came  to  select  London  as  the  scene  of  his  great 
adventure. 

The  question  that  had  long  and  seriously  agitated 
the  frequenters  of  the  Nuremberg  was  whether  this 
goose-boy   migrant  was   really  a  soul-driven  genius, 
spreading  his  wings  to  the  light,  or  merely  an  enter- 
prising young  man  who  fancied  he  could  paint  and 
was  pardonably  anxious   to  escape   from   the   mono- 
tony of  rye  bread  diet  and  the  sandy,  swine-bestrewn 
plains  of  Pomerania.     There  was  reasonable  ground 
for  doubt  and  caution  ;    the  artistic  groups  that  fore- 
gathered at  the  little  restaurant  contained  so  many 
young  women  with  short  hair  and  so  many  young 
men  with  long  hair,  who  supposed  themselves  to  be 
abnormally  gifted  in  the  domain  of  music,  poetry,  paint- 
ing, or  stagecraft,  with  little  or  nothing  to  support  the 
supposition,  that  a  self-announced  genius  of  any  sort 
in  their  midst  was  inevitably  suspect.     On  the  other 
hand,  there  was  the  ever-imminent  danger  of  enter- 
taining,  and   snubbing,   an  angel   unawares.     There 
had  been  the  lamentable  case  of  Sledonti,  the  dramatic 
poet,  who  had  been  belittled  and  cold-shouldered  in 
the  Owl  Street  hall  of  judgment,  and  had  been  after- 
wards hailed  as  a  master  singer  by  the  Grand  Duke 
Constantine  Constantinovitch — "  the  most  educated  of 
the  Romanoffs,"   according  to  Sylvia  Strubble,  who 
spoke  rather  as  one  who  knew  every  individual  member 
of  the  Russian  imperial  family  ;    as  a  matter  of  fact, 
she  knew  a  newspaper  correspondent,  a  young  man 
who  ate  bortsch  with  the  air  of  having  invented  it. 
Sledonti's  "  Poems  of  Death  and  Passion  "  were  now 
being  sold  by  the  thousand  in  seven  European  languages, 
and  were  about  to  be  translated  into  Syrian,  a  circum- 
stance which  made  the  discerning  critics  of  the  Nur- 
234 


ON        APPROVAL 

emberg  rather  shy  of  maturing  their  future  judgments 
too  rapidly  and  too  irrevocably. 

As  regards  Knopfschrank's  work,  they  did  not 
lack  opportunity  for  inspecting  and  appraising  it. 
However  resolutely  he  might  hold  himself  aloof 
from  the  social  life  of  his  restaurant  acquaintances, 
he  was  not  minded  to  hide  his  artistic  performances 
from  their  inquiring  gaze.  Every  evening,  or  nearly 
every  evening,  at  about  seven  o'clock,  he  would  make 
his  appearance,  sit  himself  down  at  his  accustomed 
table,  throw  a  bulky  black  portfolio  on  to  the  chair 
opposite  him,  nod  round  indiscriminately  at  his  fellow- 
guests,  and  commence  the  serious  business  of  eating 
and  drinking.  When  the  coffee  stage  was  reached 
he  would  light  a  cigarette,  draw  the  portfolio  over  to 
him,  and  begin  to  rummage  among  its  contents.  With 
slow  deliberation  he  would  select  a  few  of  his  more 
recent  studies  and  sketches,  and  silently  pass  them 
round  from  table  to  table,  paying  especial  attention 
to  any  new  diners  who  might  be  present.  On  the 
back  of  each  sketch  was  marked  in  plain  figures  the 
announcement  "  Price  ten  shillings." 

If  his  work  was  not  obviously  stamped  with  the 
hall-mark  of  genius,  at  any  rate  it  was  remarkable 
for  its  choice  of  an  unusual  and  unvarying  theme. 
His  pictures  always  represented  some  well-known 
street  or  public  place  in  London,  fallen  into  decay 
and  denuded  of  its  human  population,  in  the  place 
of  which  there  roamed  a  wild  fauna,  which,  from  its 
wealth  of  exotic  species,  must  have  originally  escaped 
from  Zoological  Gardens  and  travelling  beast  shows. 
"  Giraffes  drinking  at  the  fountain  pools,  Trafalgar 
Square,"  was  one  of  the  most  notable  and  character- 
istic of  his  studies,  while  even  more  sensational  was 
235 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

the  gruesome  picture  of  "  Vultures  attacking  dying 
camel  in  Upper  Berkeley  Street."  There  were  also 
photographs  of  the  large  canvas  on  which  he  had 
been  engaged  for  some  months,  and  which  he  was 
now  endeavouring  to  sell  to  some  enterprising  dealer 
or  adventurous  amateur.  The  subject  was  "  Hyaenas 
asleep  in  Euston  Station,"  a  composition  that  left 
nothing  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  suggesting  un- 
fathomed  depths  of  desolation. 

"  Of  course  it  may  be  immensely  clever,  it  may 
be  something  epoch-making  in  the  realm  of  art," 
said  Sylvia  Strubble  to  her  own  particular  circle  of 
listeners,  "  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  merely 
mad.  One  mustn't  pay  too  much  attention  to  the 
commercial  aspect  of  the  case,  of  course,  but  still,  if 
some  dealer  would  make  a  bid  for  that  hyaena  picture, 
or  even  for  some  of  the  sketches,  we  should  know 
better  how  to  place  the  man  and  his  work." 

"  We  may  all  be  cursing  ourselves  one  of  these 
days,"  said  Mrs.  Nougat-Jones,  "for  not  having 
bought  up  his  entire  portfolio  of  sketches.  At  the 
same  time,  when  there  is  so  much  real  talent  going 
about,  one  does  not  feel  like  planking  down  ten  shil- 
lings for  what  looks  like  a  bit  of  whimsical  oddity. 
Now  that  picture  that  he  showed  us  last  week,  *  Sand- 
grouse  roosting  on  the  Albert  Memorial,'  was  very 
impressive,  and  of  course  I  could  see  there  was  good 
workmanship  in  it  and  breadth  of  treatment  ;  but 
it  didn't  in  the  least  convey  the  Albert  Memorial  to 
me,  and  Sir  James  Beanquest  tells  me  that  sand- 
grouse  don't  roost,  they  sleep  on  the  ground." 

Whatever  talent  or  genius  the  Pomeranian  artist 
might  possess,  it  certainly  failed  to  receive  commercial 
sanction.  The  portfoho  remained  bulky  with  unsold 
236 


ON       APPROVAL 

sketches,  and  the  "  Euston  Siesta,"  as  the  wits  of  the 
Nuremberg  nicknamed  the  large  canvas,  was  still 
in  the  market.  The  outward  and  visible  signs  of 
financial  embarrassment  began  to  be  noticeable  i 
the  half-bottle  of  cheap  claret  at  dinner-time  gave 
way  to  a  small  glass  of  lager,  and  this  in  turn  was  dis- 
placed by  water.  The  one-and-sixpenny  set  dinner 
receded  from  an  everyday  event  to  a  Sunday  extra- 
vagance }  on  ordinary  days  the  artist  contented  him- 
self with  a  sevenpenny  omelette  and  some  bread  and 
cheese,  and  there  were  evenings  when  he  did  not  put 
in  an  appearance  at  all.  On  the  rare  occasions  when 
he  spoke  of  his  own  affairs  it  was  observed  that  he 
began  to  talk  more  about  Pomerania  and  less  about  the 
great  world  of  art. 

"  It  is  a  busy  time  there  now  with  us,"  he  said 
wistfully  ;  "  the  schwines  are  driven  out  into  the 
fields  after  harvest,  and  must  be  looked  after.  I 
could  be  helping  to  look  after  if  I  was  there.  Here 
it  is  difficult  to  live  ;    art  is  not  appreciate." 

*'  Why  don't  you  go  home  on  a  visit  ?  "  some  one 
asked  tactfully. 

"  Ah,  it  cost  money  !  There  is  the  ship  passage  to 
Stolpmiinde,  and  there  is  money  that  I  owe  at  my 
lodgings.  Even  here  I  owe  a  few  schillings.  If  I 
could  sell  some  of  my  sketches " 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Mrs.  Nougat-Jones,  "if 
you  were  to  offer  them  for  a  little  less,  some  of  us 
would  be  glad  to  buy  a  few.  Ten  shillings  is  always 
a  consideration,  you  know,  to  people  who  are  not 
over  well  off.  Perhaps  if  you  were  to  ask  six  or 
seven  shillings " 

Once  a  peasant,  always  a  peasant.  The  mere 
suggestion  of  a  bargain  to  be  struck  brought  a  twinkle 

237 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

of  awakened  alertness  into  the  artist's  eyes,  and  hardened 
the  lines  of  his  mouth. 

"  Nine  schilling  nine  pence  each,"  he  snapped, 
and  seemed  disappointed  that  Mrs.  Nougat-Jones  did 
not  pursue  the  subject  further.  He  had  evidently 
expected  her  to  offer  seven-and-fourpence. 

The  weeks  sped  by,  and  Knopfschrank  came  more 
rarely  to  the  restaurant  in  Owl  Street,  while  his 
meals  on  those  occasions  became  more  and  more 
meagre.  And  then  came  a  triumphal  day,  when 
he  appeared  early  in  the  evening  in  a  high  state  of 
elation,  and  ordered  an  elaborate  meal  that  scarcely 
stopped  short  of  being  a  banquet.  The  ordinary 
resources  of  the  kitchen  were  supplemented  by  an 
imported  dish  of  smoked  goosebreast,  a  Pomernaian 
delicacy  that  was  luckily  procurable  at  a  firm  of  deli- 
katessen  merchants  in  Coventry  Street,  while  a  long- 
necked  bottle  of  Rhine  wine  gave  a  finishing  touch 
of  festivity  and  good  cheer  to  the  crowded  table. 

"  He  has  evidently  sold  his  masterpiece,"  whis- 
pered Sylvia  Strubble  to  Mrs.  Nougat-Jones,  who  had 
come  in  late. 

"  Who  has  bought  it  ?  "  she  whispered  back. 

"  Don't  know  ;  he  hasn't  said  anything  yet,  but 
it  must  be  some  American.  Do  you  see,  he  has  got 
a  little  American  flag  on  the  dessert  dish,  and  he  has 
put  pennies  in  the  music  box  three  times,  once  to  play 
the  '  Star-spangled  Banner,'  then  a  Sousa  march,  and 
then  the  'Star-spangled  Banner'  again.  It  must  be 
an  American  millionaire,  and  he's  evidently  got  a 
big  price  for  it  ;  he's  just  beaming  and  chuckling 
with  satisfaction." 

"  We  must  ask  him  who  has  bought  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Nougat-Jones. 

238 


ON      APPROVAL 

"  Hush  !  no,  don't.  Let's  buy  some  of  his  sketches, 
quick,  before  we  are  supposed  to  know  that  he's 
famous  ;  otherwise  he'll  be  doubling  the  prices.  I 
am  so  glad  he's  had  a  success  at  last.  I  always  be- 
lieved in  him,  you  know." 

For  the  sum  of  ten  shillings  each  Miss  Strubble 
acquired  the  drawings  of  the  camel  dying  in  Upper 
Berkeley  Street  and  of  the  giraffes  quenching  their 
thirst  in  Trafalgar  Square  ;  at  the  same  price  Mrs. 
Nougat-Jones  secured  the  study  of  roosting  sand- 
grouse.  A  more  ambitious  picture,  "Wolves  and 
wapiti  fighting  on  the  steps  of  the  Athenaeum  Club," 
found  a  purchaser  at  fifteen  shillings. 

"  And  now  what  are  your  plans  ?  "  asked  a  young 
man  who  contributed  occasional  paragraphs  to  an 
artistic  weekly. 

"  I  go  back  to  Stolpmunde  as  soon  as  the  ship  sails,'* 
said  the  artist,  "and  I  do  not  return.  Never." 
"  But  your  work  ?  Your  career  as  painter  ?  " 
"  Ah,  there  is  nossing  in  it.  One  starves.  Till 
to-day  I  have  sold  not  one  of  my  sketches.  To-night 
you  have  bought  a  few,  because  I  am  going  away 
from  you,  but  at  other  times,  not  one." 

"  But  has  not  some  American ?  '* 

"  Ah,  the  rich  American,"  chuckled  the  artist. 
*'  God  be  thanked.  He  dash  his  car  right  into  our 
herd  of  schwines  as  they  were  being  driven  out  to  the 
fields.  Many  of  our  best  schwines  he  killed,  but 
he  paid  all  damages.  He  paid  perhaps  more  than 
they  were  worth,  many  times  more  than  they  would 
have  fetched  in  the  market  after  a  month  of  fatten- 
ing, but  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  on  to  Dantzig. 
When  one  is  in  a  hurry  one  must  pay  what  one  is 
asked.  God  be  thanked  for  rich  Americans,  who  are 
239 


BEASTS      AND       SUPER-BEASTS 

always  in  a  hurry  to  get  somewhere  else.  My  father 
and  mother,  they  have  now  so  plenty  of  money  ; 
they  send  me  some  to  pay  my  debts  and  come  home.  I 
start  on  Monday  for  Stolpmiinde  and  I  do  not  come 
back.     Never." 

"  But  your  picture,  the  hyaenas  ?  " 

"  No  good.  It  is  too  big  to  carry  to  Stolpmiinde. 
I  burn  it." 

In  time  he  will  be  forgotten,  but  at  present  Knopf- 
schrank  is  almost  as  sore  a  subject  as  Sledonti  with 
some  of  the  frequenters  of  the  Nuremberg  Restaurant, 
Owl  Street,  Soho. 


240 


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